Lost Count

Longing

Pavel was pacing the room. This was bad, very bad indeed. His hand still ached from Artyom's touch. When had that happened? It had to be sometime after he fell asleep. Did I do that in my sleep? His throat was tight and almost tasted of bile. Disgusting. What would the others think if they knew? Pavel exited through the plastic sheeting that separated Artyom from the rest of the patients and crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the floor in a nervous fidget.

What was he going to do? Things were different now, much too delicate and tense to allow any more mistakes on his part. All of the jokes and innuendos had to stop. What if Artyom noticed he was more serious than intended? What if he found out that Pavel was a freak? Would he even want to speak to me again?

A shuddering breath escaped his lips. The very idea of that chilled him to the core. There would be no way Pavel could ever go on if Artyom decided to cut contact with him. Pavel just cared too much about the other man. He was his best friend. He was the one who pulled Pavel out of a vicious cycle of violence. How had that even happened? There were plenty of other people in the Metro; why had Artyom of all people been the one to snare his heart in a vice trap? Why?

"Why... Why couldn't it have been a woman? Why not anyone but him?" He murmured to himself, tucking his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. His arms were crossed and he had folded in on himself, a position of resignation and sickness. "Why can't I just be--" a choked cough cut his whispers off and Pavel whipped around to see Artyom clutching the side of the curtain behind him. He was barely standing and still pale; fragile.

He looked awful. Artyom's legs were shaking under his weight, struggling desperately to keep himself upright. There were dark circles under his eyes and sweat perspired upon his brow. A quick look downwards revealed that he had begun bleeding through his bandages. Pavel jumped with a start and put a hand to his friend's arm, plight forgotten for a moment.

"Artyom! You need to be lying down!" He chided, allowing the man to lean on him as he guided him back to his cot. Artyom felt hot and heavy to the touch, almost feverish. Pavel had to wrap an arm around his waist in order to keep him upright long enough to get him back into bed. His current predicament about his jumbled up feelings was pushed to the side, overwhelmed by his need to see Artyom safe and unhurt. He was mindful of Artyom's still serious injuries and made sure to not irritate them. As soon as Artyom had safely been maneuvered into a lying down position, Pavel took up the seat he had abandoned earlier. "Hey, chuvak. How're you feeling, eh?"

Artyom didn't meet his eyes. That should've been a sign that something was wrong, but it flew completely over Pavel's head in favor of making sure that Artyom was relatively alive. The man still looked about half-dead. However, his friend shrugged his shoulders and made an almost noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. It sounded hoarse and painful.

"Not so good, huh? Well I'd be worse off than you if I had taken the beating you did!" Pavel said, attempting to plaster a friendly smile on his face. His throat still felt tight. If Artyom was looking at him he would've seen right through the cheerful facade. "Why did you get up instead of calling a doctor over? You have a bell for that specific reason." A hand wave over to said bell made Artyom's eyes flash over to his bedside table for a moment before focusing back on a point on the wall. "You opened up your wounds, keep in mind that they're still attempting to stitch you up completely!" Artyom pursed his lips in irritation at the mothering.

But there was still something off. Usually Artyom would indulge Pavel a bit with his teasing, and he would defend himself more whenever Pavel would get too overbearing. But he was just lying there, not doing anything. Once Pavel calmed down from his burst of worry and called for a doctor to redress Artyom's bandages, he began noticing the little tics that had completely escaped him before. A little twitch of the eyebrow there, a flex of the throat there. A nervous glance towards him then away. Almost like Artyom couldn't bring himself to look at him. There was something wrong with the man, but Pavel just couldn't place it. What had happened to him? What caused him to completely close off his body language and expression from Pavel? Usually he could get a good reading on Artyom, but now it was nearly impossible.