Not-so-subtle indeed. And while, once upon a time, he might have snapped at anyone simply trying to be helpful to him— Christine insisting that he was pushing it too far, that the physical therapy couldn’t be rushed, that he was a goddamned doctor and so why did he keep doing the exact opposite of what was good for him—

Tonight, well, the man’s just tired. He misses Wong. It’s surprisingly nice to have a friendly face reminding him that he’s only human and he does need some rest. He can’t just haul one of the books back to his room to keep reading in bed, either; he’s going to run out of candles. (He also misses his tablet.)

So Strange, grudgingly, rises to his feet and slides the stack across the table towards Mobius for safekeeping. “Alright. Deal.” A moment, then, “Are you usually here? I’ll probably be back whenever I’m asleep or not in—” a faint wince, the self-consciousness of someone plunged back into a pseudo-classroom environment when he hadn’t expected it, “rifter immersion classes. Or whatever they’re unofficially called.”