Lost Count

Beyond

Pavel hadn't returned to VDNKh ever since that day when Artyom woke up from his botched journey up above. It had been weeks, almost a month even, and Artyom was beginning to worry that he would ever come back. Pavel had never stayed one this long before. His memories of the aftermath of his injury were hazy and confusing, filled with swimming faces and jumbled words. But there were some things in particular that stood out.

Duke patting him on the arm and shooting him a hopeful smile. Anna exhaling in relief when she saw that Artyom was healing nicely. Pavel giving blood to save Artyom's life. Pavel snatching his hand away in fear and pacing just outside of Artyom's room in the infirmary. Small, hushed and panicked words spoken in tones almost too quiet to hear.

"Why not anyone but him? Why can't I just be--"

Artyom didn't have the chance to hear the rest of Pavel's sentence by then, as standing up and moving closer had taken its toll on his fragile health at the time. But Artyom's mind was racing, trying to piece things together and paint a coherent picture, addled by pain though he was. The delirium of it all allowed his mind to come up with simply outlandish possibilities, even starring the one that he wished the most to be true.

That Pavel felt something for him.

And, in that moment of vulnerability and hope, Artyom decided to let it color his actions. If he had been right-minded, he never would have acted the way he did. Blushing and averting his gaze in a predictably coy act. It would take an absolute idiot to not understand what was meant by it.

Either an idiot, or one who was extremely distracted. Which just so happened to be the plight of the only other two people in the room. Both had been preoccupied and unable to see what was right in front of them. The doctor cared less about anything else other than getting Artyom bandaged up and healing well. And Pavel... He had been stuck in his own turmoil of feelings.

But now, Artyom found his head in his hands. He gritted his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair. Stupid. Unbelievably stupid! That was possibly the single most embarrassing thing I could have ever done in my life. However, the entire situation opened up a train of thought that he would never have thought possible until his pain-addled brain came up with it.

The idea that Pavel could possibly feel the same way.

It was unheard of. Artyom felt as if he was the only man in the whole Metro to feel this way, and yet here he was. Someone else who might share the same sentiment. Pavel's jokes and teasing struck a chord within him that no one else's seemed to. There was something about the way they were told that drew Artyom in, made him more interested to hear the rest. Perhaps the jokes were born of some truth, instead of mockery.

Artyom didn't know how to respond to them in a way that didn't come across as obvious. But if he was too subtle, then Pavel wouldn't pick up on any of his hints! Life was so much easier when he was staunchly believing that his feelings were unrequited. When he was certain there was no chance. Now everything was a mess; it all seemed so complicated and delicate now. Before now, he was happy to have his daydreams and fantasies in peace. He was happy to suffer at arm's reach.

But now? Now that there was some tiny shred of hope that maybe his feelings were returned? He couldn't just sit by and watch them falter. Artyom was a man of action, and he'd be damned if he didn't do something about this.

His wound had healed nicely, leaving a scar but not much else. He was able to move around again relatively easily. Artyom knew what he needed to do; he needed to go to the Red Line. They would welcome him with open arms now that things had changed over there. Leonid might even come to personally welcome him.