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Artyom breathes a mirthless half-laugh. Yeah, no shit. But he knows why Pavel doesn't properly answer, but still the man tries to give him hope, tries to warm him with affection and esse his heart, and Artyom sighs and returns the gesture, leaning his forehead against Pavel's and letting his eyes fall closed...

But it's not working. And after a few moments, his eyes open again as he turns once more to his clipboard, flipping the paper over to a side with more space. "It's not that simple." He writes again, his face furrowed and scrunched, with anger and hurt and self hatred and like he's tasting something bitter and sour. "I don't even have any friends. They're all dead. Most of them died at D6."

Let that one sink in.

"And not everyone is me, not everyone is an idiot whose better judgement tells him otherwise, but all he wants anymore is to be close to the man who nearly ruined his ability to trust, yet he wants to do it all over again, even if it might bite him in the ass once more. And he abandons and betrays everyone- they're not going to just be happy to see me if they knew. This isn't just disappearing on my friends- try to imagine it for a minute Pavel, turning your back on your people for the ones that ruined them."

The boy is writing a novel, now, his pencil scratching away, handwriting slightly messy in the rush, and Pavel will simply have to follow along. "Imagine, say you had a family- a father who took you in and educated you and loved you and taught you to care and be kind, who only wanted what's best for you and always saw you as his own, even when your ungrateful ass was convinces he wasn't a 'real' father just because you didn't share blood. Imagine you have a wife who lost most of everything she knew, partly because of you- and a son you were supposed to love as you are meant to love his mother but you don't! Your commanding officer and friend and father and law who lost his legs fighting for freedom against the very faction you're abandoning him and all his fallen comrades for. The memory of all those dead, and you leave them in the dust. And you let them think you probably killed yourself, but what's worse: that they think you did, or find out you're alive, but abandoned them for the enemy?"



Artyom suddenly stops, in the middle of starting another letter of another word, but it never goes farther than an uncomprehensible scratch of graphite, as he realizes what he's just done. That he's just spilled his entire guts to Pavel, things he'd wanted to keep private, if a little while longer