Lost Count

Reading

"On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it."

Artyom was lying on his cot across from Pavel, eyes shut and hands behind his head. He had a peaceful smile on his face as Pavel's voice resounded throughout the small room. The train thrummed beneath them; the deep rumbling of the wheels a gentle backdrop to the story. It had been a day since Artyom's lovely gift, and Pavel was going to make the most of it. Comforting, soft. Emotions like that enveloped him as his eyes flicked across the pages, lips forming the words printed upon them. It was easy to forget about where they were now, easy to come to terms with his current situation. In this little room, it was just them.

No interruptions. Just them spending time together. Pavel absolutely relished it, especially after the long time spent away from Artyom. Not talking to him was absolutely torturous when the other man was still so close. Like something wasn't right between them. But now that was in the past. And Pavel could spend as much time with him as he wanted. Artyom didn't seem to mind, and he was going to take complete advantage of that fact. In fact, this activity together was an easy and safe way to spend time together. It was distracting. Pavel didn't have any time to think about his jumbled emotions, didn't have to try and untangle that dangerous knot. Though... He supposed that it wouldn't really matter much anymore. Not out here, far from others. Others who would sneer and insult and possibly even throw punches.

But Pavel wasn't a coward. Anyone who questioned his morals would find themselves on the ground, clutching a bloody nose. That's just how it was in the Metro. Fight first before they could land the first blow. Before insults became frequent. But they weren't in the Metro anymore. The only other humans they encountered now were mostly aggressive on sight, desperate to defend their territory. But none of that even concerned Pavel anymore. He had a team, people to lean on now.

The other Rangers were still a bit intimidating though...

He still had Artyom to call as his friend. And that was worth more than everything he had ever left behind.

For as long as he had Artyom, Pavel would be able to make it anywhere. "He drew his sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed him, crying, 'Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!'" At those words Artyom opened an eye incredulously to look over at his friend. It did not go unnoticed. "What is it?" Artyom turned ever so slightly to the side in order to fix Pavel with a jokingly confused expression. You say I'm him? Pavel stifled a laugh at the look on his face. "Just wait, my D'Artagnan. You will see." Artyom rolled his eyes and let his head fall back onto his pillow again, making an idle gesture for Pavel to continue.

He turned back to the book, finding where he left off and starting again. There was a slight tickle in his throat from reading out loud so much, overexertion of his vocal cords. He cleared his throat and continued:

"'Strike me!' Said the other, turning on his heels..."

~*~

They were able to finish the first chapter before the day was out. Which was good. Pavel wanted to continue reading longer than that, but his throat had other plans. By the end of it he was nearly hoarse with the effort it took to keep up the inflections. Artyom had quickly stopped him when he started reading out the title of the second chapter, fanning his hand out across his neck in a clear 'stop' symbol. Pavel's voice needed to rest anyways. So he folded down the corner of the page he was on and set the book under his own cot, lying back and staring up at the ceiling. A little rumble and a cough from his chest; an attempt to soothe his aching throat.