Lost Count

Surface

The wind bit at their clothes, much more intensely than usual. The roof was exposed to the toughest temperatures and weather, and Pavel found himself crouching low in order to not be blown flat. Artyom was hunched over next to the low wall of the barrier, radio in the corner and twirling the dial nonstop. Static emitted from it and was swept away by the wind, being carried off into Moscow on dead lips.

Pavel muttered to himself as he kept watch on the door and to the skies. He was glad to be here in order to make sure Artyom didn't get ambushed, but he wished they could've gone up on a day that wasn't so poor in weather. Granted, not many days had good weather, but there couldn't be much worse than this. As Artyom fussed with the radio Pavel began daydreaming a bit, thinking back to the day before yesterday.

It was hard to believe Artyom's dream, when the world had gone to shit all around them. The idea that there were other survivors was a hope that died out early in the first years of the new world. But Pavel was willing to support his friend regardless of his own thoughts on the matter. But Artyom had seen the doubt in his eyes. He had turned away from him, understandably angry.

Pavel didn't know how to appease him. He settled for reassurance, trying to get his attention with his words. 'I do believe you chuvak, really!' Artyom sat up and leaned in towards him, staring right into his eyes. He was trying to find the lies that were no doubt hiding away under Pavel's eager assurances. But there weren't any. Pavel was being truthful with the Ranger. His eyes are so green... Pavel found himself lost for a moment, thoughts swept away in a wave of overwhelming feelings.

Artyom's expression had changed for just a moment before he shut his eyes tightly. A flash of something before being covered and hidden away. Pavel thought he could recognize what it was, but found it gone before he could determine it. Artyom shot forward, nearly knocking noses with Pavel before burying his head into the other man's shoulder. Pavel's heart jerked with nerves; it was almost like Artyom was about to-- No. He wasn't. Artyom isn't like that. Artyom likes women, just like I do.

Pavel comforted his friend, rubbing circles into his back and breathing deeply with him. In that moment he was hit with a sudden desire to apologize, to be truthful and lay himself bare. Everything that he had ever done to hurt Artyom all came spilling over the edge. He apologized and fumbled over his words, everything getting jumbled and confused. Pavel wasn't the best at expressing remorse, even though he felt it get stronger with every day that passed. His regret. His guilt.

It had lessened to an extent, now that he had admitted it. Pavel let out a breath of air as the wind began to calm.

Artyom sighed angrily and hefted the radio back into his bag, shouldering it with a soft huff of air. "No luck, then?" Pavel asked, standing up with him and stretching his sore muscles. Artyom shook his head, shifting from foot to foot before making his way to the roof exit. "Maybe the signals are bad here, chuvak. You are trying to pick up radios from the other side of the world!" Pavel patted him on the shoulder as they walked over to the steps descending into the building. Artyom didn't look at him, but nodded his hesitant agreement. He kept his eyes to the ground as they began descending back into the depths of the city.

The stairs were cracked and crumbling in some places, so Pavel had to choose carefully where to step. Artyom followed silently, feet scuffling across the concrete and metal. Moscow was particularly quiet in terms of the local wildlife today; most of the beasts had taken shelter from the stormy weather and horrid winds. "Hey Artyom?" Pavel spoke up once they reached the bottom of the flights of stairs. Artyom looked over to him in question. "What-- What are you going to do once you make contact? I mean, you must have some plan," Pavel continued, adjusting his mask so the straps wouldn't chafe as much.

Artyom nodded, motioning Pavel over into a small offshoot from the hallway. It led to a room covered with dust. He got out his journal and began scribbling, holding it open to the very back.

Leave. I'm not staying. Tell others. They can come too.

Pavel wasn't surprised. He honestly didn't even know why he asked in the first place. "Alright. How are you gonna get there?" He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Pavel wanted to know if Artyom had a plan, or if he was just going to barrel forward into the unknown.

Walk. Maybe build a car for surface.

Pavel let out a snort of laughter at that. Artyom's deadpan delivery and harsh strokes of the pencil paired with the almost clueless ideas of escape from Moscow were a little bit too much for him. The soft laughter alerted Artyom and made him glare at Pavel. It wasn't funny to him.

"I'm sorry, Artyomich! It's all just a little bit funny, don't you think? I'd say come up with some plan for transportation, chuvak. Filters don't last long on the surface, and you have a long way to go," Pavel replied to Artyom's glare with his honest opinion. The man's brow was furrowed, but not quite in anger. More like exasperated amusement. He knew Pavel had his best interests in mind, and was only trying to help. He was awfully cute like that--

What? No. Of course not.

Artyom huffed a sigh and nodded his head, acquiescing to Pavel's suggestions and wordlessly saying, 'you're right'. "I'm always right, chuvak!" Pavel said, swinging his arms wide and wearing a dopey grin that was unable to be seen under the face-piece of his mask. Artyom tilted a brow and shook his head at the words.

It was just like old times.