pavel and artyom reconciliation

[09:04 PM] Artyom Alexovich sits on the couch, looking very much like he just woke up. Because. He did. He's still wearing the slightly grimy clothes he arrived in, though they seem to have gotten a wash or two since he's been here. (Probably washed in the bathtub, though, let's be real) He's down to his undershirt, socks, and trackpants, with a ratty old padded jacket hanging loosely off his shoulders- he was using that as a blanket.

Artyom yawns, rubbing his face, and pondering the odd reality of those... murder village 'games'. And, relatedly... the appearance of Pavel. Sure, Snake had told him the man was around, but... "Mngh..."
[09:22 PM] Pavel Morozov has likewise just awoken, also from a game-- a game where Artyom had been... cold to him, yeah, chilly as fuck, but maybe not so cold as to freeze him out entirely? Of course, they're...

Well, could they still be enemies in a place where there is no Red Line, no Rangers, no Polis or Metro at all?

Something in Pavel really hopes not, and he also hopes that maybe Artyom feels the same way, and so he drags himself off his bed, clutching his side and wincing, and ventures to the door of the bedroom, then through the short hall to the living room, where he hovers in the doorway, uncertainty filling his belly and making it flop about like a fish out of water but a half-smile on his face.
[09:24 PM] Artyom Alexovich has yet to notice Pavel. He still has sleep in his eyes, feeling so fucking tired- sure he 'slept', but going to that Place when you sleep doesn't leave you feeling too well-rested when you wake. He sighs, putting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his tired face, stubble looking like he needs a shave, short hair extra messy.
[09:28 PM] Pavel Morozov licks his lips, half-smile fading, and looks at Artyom, gaze... assessing.

God, the guy looks tired.

"... Bad dreams?" he asks, tone all joking and bright but voice quiet.
[09:32 PM] Artyom Alexovich jolts a little at the sudden, and awfully familiar voice, and glances over- yep, there's Pavel. Artyom sighs heavily, scowling as he looks away again. When he answers the question, it's with a dismissive "Puh..!" because no fuckin' shit, Pavel, you should know.
[09:35 PM] Pavel Morozov MAY NOT BE AS FAR OUT OF THE DOGHOUSE AS HE WAS HOPING-- ah, well, it's still better than nothing, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets and wanders towards Artyom, sitting on the arm of the couch and looking around the living room. "Oppa, nice place, though. Clean and bright, eh? Bet there's no rats in these walls, aha..." He glances at Artyom, out of the corner of his eye, to see what response that gets from the mute dude.
[09:38 PM] Artyom Alexovich gives a horrified grimace and a shudder at the mention of 'rats in the walls'. Ugh, what an awful thing to consider. Not that Pavel would know why Artyom would be so viscerally negative about it. He doesn't exactly go around telling everyone what happened to his mother.

Still, he calms quickly, and sighs. Still looking away from Pavel, he nods slowly. It's very nice, yeah. He rubs his eyes a little.
[09:40 PM] Pavel Morozov hesitates, then says, "Uh, there's, uh, a bed in that room, the one over there. If you wanna sleep under a real blanket, right?"
[09:46 PM] Artyom Alexovich shakes his head, no, he's fine. He's... not comfortable going to sleep when Pavel's wandering around awake. Instead, he lifts his arms to streeetttch, back popping as he arches it, pushing his chest out for a moment, jacket falling off his shoulders. Yaaawwnn!! "Hwuaaahh... Ngh." And then the arms flop back down and he slouches, maybe looking a lil more awake.
[09:51 PM] Pavel Morozov's eyes get caught on Artyom's stretching-- damn, he looks so fucking skinny without a coat on, doesn't he? Pavel knew he was pretty light, but he looks like a good-sized pillow could knock him right over...

"Suit yourself, chuvak," he says, and stands up, walking around the couch, behind Artyom (to see what he'll do, if he'll turn to watch Pavel or be comfortable with him moving behind him--) to get to the kitchen, where he sets a kettle up and finds a knife and a cutting board and an apple to cut up.
[09:53 PM] Artyom Alexovich is NOT comfortable with Pavel moving behind him, no, and he turns to watch the man move around the couch... mostly out of the corner of his eye, pretending he's focusing on picking up his jacket, putting it back on properly. He stands and zips it up part-way, having been feeling a little exposed in his undershirt.

And then, curiously, he heads to the kitchen as well... sort of to see what Pavel is up to, but mostly to get himself a glass of water at the sink.
[09:55 PM] Pavel Morozov cuts the apple into quarters, then slices away the core, and then... offers a quarter of apple to Artyom, wordlessly, a smile on his face that's completely unreadable because it's the smile that's almost always on his face.
[09:56 PM] Artyom Alexovich pauses, glancing at the apple slice... it looks tasty, but he looks up to the man offering it, and slowly shakes his head, before turning his face away while he downs his glass of water. Nope, not taking shit from you right now, Pavel. Ur lucky u didnt offer him a drink
[09:56 PM] Artyom Alexovich would've likely reacted badly to Pavel offering him a drink.
[09:58 PM] Pavel Morozov's smile may be pretty unreadable, but the absence of it? Super readable. He is apparently not very happy that Artyom is not very happy with him.

Ah, well, at least he'll have an entire apple to himself. He crunches into the sweet flesh of it, and hums in pleasure, eyes falling closed-- god, Artyom doesn't know what he's missing. Fresh fruit!
[10:00 PM] Artyom Alexovich has already had an apple by now! He's been here a while already! He's also had ice cream, which was fucking incredible and made him cry.

Artyom moves to the fridge next, digging through and finding... ah! An orange. And with that, he sits down at the table and... struggles to peel the orange. He's got the general gist of how to do it, but he's never done it himself, before, only seeing others around here...
[10:03 PM] Pavel Morozov is going to make aggressively happy noises as he eats his fruit, fuck you, Artyom. You could have had easy and prepared apple, but noooo, you had to go be difficult-- no, Pavel's being unkind, he just...

Ahhh, if only Artyom had joined the Red Line...
[10:06 PM] Artyom Alexovich would be genuinely angry to know Pavel still thinks of it that way. That Artyom should've just given in and joined the Red Line. That Pavel still thinks of barricades and party lines first and foremost, sticks so hard to his shady ideology. It... hurt, back then. It still hurts. Even though he forgives, it still hurts, still makes him sour.

He finally gets enough peel off, that he can split the orange open, juicy segments ready to be plucked up, and Artyom's greedy little fingers are already eager to do just that, taking up a slice and popping it in his mouth- "Mmh!" Tart, and yet also sweet, wow!
[10:11 PM] Pavel Morozov's ideology isn't shady! It's bright fucking red. OBVIOUSLY.

But it's not even that he loves his ideology so much that he can never let it go. If Artyom had just... joined, helped, stayed with Pavel, then it would have been better, because they would have been able to stay together, stay friends, get to know and appreciate each other even more-- and Pavel sighs a little, with one last quarter of apple left to eat, staring pensively at Artyom and thinking about might-have beens.
[10:15 PM] Artyom Alexovich thinks so differently about it, he was eager to be friends with Pavel, but he still didn't want to become a traitor. The Reds did shit he didn't approve of, but that didn't change that Pavel was already becoming a good friend to him, and he wasn't going to let differences in ideology impede that... But Pavel did. Pavel just couldn't let that shit go. Couldn't just be friends with differences. But that's how commies work, right? Always have to be in lockstep, in their marches, in their relationships, in their thoughts...

Artyom's aware he's being stared at, but he doesn't stare back, keeping his eyes on his orange as he devours it slice by slice, letting one leg swing back and forth under the chair and table, looking a bit cheerier now that he's eating.
[10:16 PM] Pavel Morozov asks, slowly, "Do you like it here? Away from the Metro, and your beast, and your rangers?"
[10:18 PM] Artyom Alexovich's cheery disposition seems to melt all over again and he glowers up at Pavel. Of course, he doesn't know about the truth of the Dark One, nor that he's gone for now, but... still. But regardless, Artyom pauses, before... nodding slowly. Yeah, he does like it here. Even if the sun is far too bright, it's still so warm, the people are generally kinder, there's so much less to worry about. Of course he misses the rangers, and of course he worries about the future of the Metro without him there when the Dark Ones return, but... It's better here. Safer. Nicer.
[10:19 PM] Artyom Alexovich also has an excuse to not go home to Anna. Sorry, honey! The multiverse stuck me in another dimension, can't come home!
[10:20 PM] Pavel Morozov says, very very quietly, "I like it here, too."

Away from his Red Line, his commies, the gunfights and the dead.
[10:22 PM] Artyom Alexovich maybe... wishes he hadn't left his clipboard in the other room. Ah well. He nods again, looking down at an orange slice in his fingers, before popping it in his mouth. He's... maybe a little surprised. But only a little.
[10:24 PM] Pavel Morozov lets the silence hang for a moment, and then says, all cheerful, "Blin, the apples, priyatel, please tell me you've tried the apples-- I haven't had apples so juicy and sweet since before the bombs fell, you know?"
[10:26 PM] Artyom Alexovich doesn't remember having had apples before the bombs fell- he was so young, he really only remembers the ice cream he had on that last day, and even that is probably lucky. But he's tried them here, and they're so sweet and crisp, and these oranges are good, too, juicy and tart in such a good way...

He nods, brow furrowed. He can tell Pavel is trying to build up a rapport again, but it's hardly the same as it was before. But, still, he can agree the apples were amazing.
[10:30 PM] Pavel Morozov slides into the chair next to Artyom, sitting sideways to face him, and says, "I haven't tried an orange yet. I already-- don't tell anyone, Tyoma, but I may have cried in front of the man who stitched me up, when I bit into an apple. And oranges were my favorite as a kid. I think I might start sobbing and never stop if I eat an orange." He laughs a little, and takes a bite of his last apple quarter.
[10:32 PM] Artyom Alexovich doesn't really look surprised or like he's going to laugh at the admission. And, in fact, he actually lets his face melt into one of sympathy for a few moments. He cried, too, when he got to eat ice cream again. He understands perfectly. And... ugh, as mad as he is, that tugged on him a little, and now he's feeling a little more altruistic, so... He plucks another slice from the orange, and, with a weary sigh, holds it out to Pavel.
[10:38 PM] Pavel Morozov blinks at Artyom-- oh. Oh. "I-- what, you want to make me cry?" he asks, half-joking, but takes the slice of orange, his warm fingertips brushing Artyom's, and takes a small bite of it, just a quarter or so--

"Nn," he manages, as the sweetness of it bursts in his mouth, liquid and pulpy and just as good as he remembers, better than he remembers, oh god, and the tartness of it following the sweet, and the way the little-- the little packets of juice, is there a word for them?, the way they burst as he chews his little bit of orange.

He takes another nibble, and his brow furrows, and tears well up in his eyes as he closes them, like that might stop them from rolling down his cheeks. God is real, and he made the orange just to make Pavel cry in front of other men.
[10:44 PM] Artyom Alexovich snorts- come on, it's not to make you cry. He just wants to let Pavel do something that'll at least bring some kind of happiness to him. Even if he's not going to say that's why. And it's not because it's Pavel!! It's because he's a fellow man from the Metro, and that means something no matter what.

His hands return to what they were doing, picking at the orange peel, ignoring that he can still feel the other man's fingertips against his, not just from just now, but from all those times before, all those times they helped each other up or handed things to each other or friendly gestures... Artyom tries not to focus on that, and instead focuses on Pavel's face, finding it so familiar the way the emotions spread across his face from the first taste of the orange, and he figures that must be exactly what he looked like when Snake shared that ice cream that one time. The surprise and familiarity and joy, trying and failing to stop the tears, the immense satisfaction and delight as it's so much better than twenty year old memories...

Artyom maybe smiles just a little tiny bit, before he politely looks away, to instead focus on getting another slice of orange for himself, popping it past his lips.
[10:52 PM] Pavel Morozov bites his lip, and a noise worms out of his throat anyways, not quite a sob but definitely a CRYING noise, and he turns away from Artyom, wiping his face with the back of his arm and popping the rest of the orange slice into his mouth. He-- he-- he hasn't tasted anything so perfect since...

"Thank you," he mumbles, and buries his face in his hands, and cries some more. chewing slow and letting the flavor linger even after he swallows.
[10:55 PM] Artyom Alexovich makes a soft sound in response, a quiet "Mh" of acknowledgment. He doesn't hold this against Pavel, or judge him. He was exactly the same, trying ice cream again. It had the exact same effect on him. He understands. You're welcome.

... A part of him wants to get up, and pat Pavel's shoulder, and smile at him. A small part, but strong enough that he has to fight down the urge, and he bites his lip, frowning. God...
[10:59 PM] Pavel Morozov wouldn't know what to do with himself if Artyom did that, honestly. Probably cry on him instead.

The kettle starts whistling before his tears dry up, though, so he stands up, to fix himself a mug of tea-- ah, maybe... "Tea?" he asks Artyom, voice stuffy from crying, standing by the cupboard with a mug in one hand and the other half-extended to grab a second. Even if Artyom doesn't want an apple, Pavel can offer him something else, right? (He forgets that the last thing he offered Artyom was drugged.)
[11:02 PM] Artyom Alexovich's nearly nice feelings melt away quickly at that offer. He may have forgiven you, but he has yet to have forgotten, and you definitely do not have his trust yet, Pavel. He gives the man a suddenly furious look, before dropping the last few orange sliced, still stuck in the peel, on the table and storming out of the kitchen.

Yeah, he's still pissed.
[11:05 PM] Pavel Morozov WHAT DID HE SAY? WHAT DID HE SAY?

Pavel stares after Artyom for a moment, tears still tracking down his face, the sweetness and brightness of the orange still on his tongue, and-- his eyes wander to the orange peel, left on the table, the meat of the orange still uneaten--
[11:06 PM] Artyom Alexovich has lost his appetite, so you can have it, Pavel. He's off to a bathroom, to rinse the stickiness from his hands, still looking absolutely livid.
[11:08 PM] Pavel Morozov is torn, but. There will still be oranges tomorrow.

Pavel instead turns off the kettle, and puts the mug back in the cupboard, and rubs the tears from his face (his eyes are still wet), and then he goes to follow Artyom. Can he... is the bathroom door closed, or can Pavel slip in after Artyom, red from crying and trying to catch his eyes in the mirror?
[11:10 PM] Artyom Alexovich left the door open, yes, and his head is down for the moment, focused on furiously scrubbing his hands in the water. But then he shuts off the faucet, shaking the water from his hands, and glances up- his eyes go wide and he jolts in surprise at Pavel's face appearing in the mirror, and he spins around to face him, inhaling sharply through his nose.
[11:11 PM] Pavel Morozov holds his hands up, and he backs off a step, and says, "d'Artagnan...?"

He clearly either has no idea what he did wrong, or is very good at pretending. (He has no idea what he did wrong.)
[11:15 PM] Artyom Alexovich was startled, but he's still pretty pissed, and- and Pavel repeatedly calling him d'Artagnan, like they're still friends, like he's still playing along with that muskateer business, just makes him angrier, and... Artyom growls, shoving at Pavel (he's skinny and hardly very strong at all, but he's got a year of being a ranger behind him regardless, he has a bit of strength in this body at least) and pushing past him, to make his way out and back to the livingroom.

Jeeze! It is apparently an unlucky day for Pavel.
[11:20 PM] Pavel Morozov is pushed easily, not-- not braced for that, and he stares after Artyom, lips parted and brow furrowed. God, what's his problem? Here's Pavel, doing his fucking damnedest to be-- to mend the fence, at least, and he thought they were connecting again, thought that maybe they could feel a kinship again, that they could break bread and share salt, and then Tyoma fucking...

"Well, fuck me, I guess," he says, not quietly at all, and goes to stride back towards the kitchen-- oh, ow, ow, ow, "Blyadj!"he curses, as his attempt to walk curtly past Artyom pulls something in his side and he stumbles, with a hiss of pain, clapping a hand over the stitched-up wound and grabbing at the wall to keep from falling.
[11:26 PM] Artyom Alexovich has quite a few problems, Pavel, and you caused several of them! So there!!

It doesn't help that Pavel hasn't even directly apologized. Sure, Artyom technically forgave him and saved his life, but... how much of that does Pavel even remember??

Artyom was at his pile of belongings, digging through it for something, when Pavel made his way by... only for Artyom to be startled by the cursing, and the hiss of pain that follows, and he looks up- Oh. Artyom acts without even thinking, almost on instinct, and he's suddenly upright and making his way to Pavel's side, grabbing at him, to help him stay on his feet, his hands still damp against Pavel's clothes or skin as he maneuvers one of the man's arms over his shoulders, c'mon, let's get you over to the couch before you keel over...
[11:37 PM] Pavel Morozov's only in an undershirt and pants and excessively grubby socks, Artyom's damp hands almost certainly landing either on skin or soaking straight through the threadbare cloth, and Pavel nearly winces away from the cold and the wet (just like home, eh?), before letting Artyom take some of his weight, and stumbling to the couch, practically crashing into it and curling around his wound, protectively, even though it doesn't really help.

And then he snaps, once he's down, "What, do you only like me when I'm crying, now?"
[11:46 PM] Artyom Alexovich wasn't even thinking, he just- Pavel was hurting, wounded, and he had to do something, he couldn't just- just like he couldn't stand to bear the thought of Pavel dying, of Pavel being dragged to that hell of damned souls in the Red Square, he can hardly stand seeing him beaten or bloody or hurting, either.

Still, the ungrateful snap makes Artyom's come back to reality instead of emotion, and he scrunches his nose, and reaches out to give Pavel a light smack upside his shaved head. Dick.

And then he turns away, back to rummage in his pile of stuff, if Pavel would like to yell at Artyom more from his spot on the couch. Artyom will ignore him until he's found what he's looking for.
[11:54 PM] Pavel Morozov takes the smack, and curls his lip at Artyom in a soundless snarl, something a little angry lighting in his eyes. What the fuck kind of game is Artyom playing with him? There's-- there's nothing here to fight over, so why the hell are they fighting? Here Pavel is, doing his fucking best to move back to how things were, in that brief, good time before they reached Venice, and Artyom's being so fucking-- Pavel doesn't even have a word for it, damn it. But he doesn't like it, this hot-cold unexplained anger and unexpected sweetness, coming at him to unbalance him.

Maybe it's revenge. Maybe Artyom's playing good cop, bad cop to try and break Pavel. That would make sense; after all, Artyom may have left him alive, but you can leave people alive for all kinds of reasons.

(When Pavel is certain Artyom isn't looking at him, he gingerly checks his hand, to see if his wound is bleeding, and sees some red spots on his fingertips. Shit. Time to put them back where they were; he doesn't want Artyom to see him bleeding. Who knows what he'd do?)
[11:59 PM] Artyom Alexovich locates a small, orange case, and he straightens up, heading back to Pavel as he opens the case up to take out one of the medicinal syringes inside. He pops the cap off the needle with his thumb, and... Well. He could hand it to Pavel to have him handle it himself, but Artyom's still feeling pretty cheesed, so maybe he'll just give him a little "tough love" instead.

By moving forward to jam the needle into Pavel's upper left arm, and squeezing the little attached bag of trimeperidine, and then pulling the needle away again. Sure, it hurts now, but Pavel should shortly be feeling the painkilling effects of the medicine and, hopefully, feel a little less shitty from the bullet wound. Artyom caps the used syringe and puts it back in the case, for now, to dispose of properly later.
[12:01 AM] Pavel Morozov jolts and curses, and takes a wild swing at Artyom, because WHAT THE FUCK.
[12:01 AM] Pavel Morozov has lost all emotions besides WHAT THE FUCK, unfortunately. If Artyom wants jokes, he'll have to try again later.
[12:01 AM] Artyom Alexovich raises an arm at the swing, but it still pushes him stumbling backwards, landing on his butt on the floor with a grunt. "Guh!"
[12:07 AM] Pavel Morozov has gone a mix of pale and blotchy red, and, honestly, looks like shit, one hand pressed over his wound and the other pressed over the injection site, so he's hunched up with his arms wrapped around himself as he snarls, choked, "The fuck is wrong with you?" He-- god, fuck, why is he even trying? Artyom clearly is fucking with him, that's the-- fuck. He'd thought there'd been-- [b]fuck[/b] him for a fool, he should never have trusted a ranger in the first place, no matter how kind he was, how quiet, no matter that they'd saved each other's lives over and over, that Pavel wouldn't be alive if not for Artyom.
[12:07 AM] Pavel Morozov is feeling a little hurt by the way.
[12:14 AM] Artyom Alexovich has been feeling hurt for MONTHS, and, fuck, he still cares about the guy, but Pavel keeps being so thoughtless, like they could just go back to how things were, like he hadn't horribly broken Artyom's [s]heart[/s] trust, like there isn't still massive damage to the very infrastructure of their relationship. You can't just put duct tape on that and call it a day, Pavel. You can think fuck you for trusting a ranger, but Artyom's already been thinking similar for ages, fuck him for trusting a Red.

He snorts, at the question, glowering, but of course he says nothing. He never says anything. He just climbs back to his feet, dropping the case of needles on the coffee table (still thinking of in case Pavel might like another dose of trimeperidine), and then going back over to his pile of belongings. He's frowning so hard as he shuffles through his things, until he finds that ratty old long-sleeved shirt he'd been wearing for the last week or three. Ditching the too-warm jacket, he instead pulls the shirt on, buttoning it up over his undershirt, ignoring Pavel for now.
[12:17 AM] Pavel Morozov WELL-- GOOD--

With a huff of effort, Pavel shoves himself up off the couch, stumbling a little and catching himself with his hands on the coffee table. Shit, it hurts, but if he makes a noise of pain and Artyom turns around all sweet and tender again he might fucking scream. He's just going to stumble and weave determinedly back to bed, blood dark against his undershirt where it's leaking from his side, spreading far enough that his hand can't cover it entirely anymore.
[12:26 AM] Artyom Alexovich can't ignore Pavel when he's doing stupid shit like getting up and stumbling around while injured, and he definitely can't ignore that horrid red oozing into sight from under Pavel's hand, and... He's hardly been 'sweet and tender', but he still can't fucking bear seeing the man like this. Being a little rough with him with the syringe or smacking his head, that's all one thing, but he still fucking cares, dammit, whether he likes it or not.

He doesn't follow Pavel to the bedroom, though. Not right away. He first goes to raid bathrooms and closets, until he gets ahold of bandages and things, a proper first aid kit, not just a case full of opioids. It probably takes several long minutes, but eventually, Artyom shows up in the doorframe of the bedroom Pavel's staying in, arms full of bandages and other supplies, as well as what looks to be his diary and clipboard.

He's still looking pretty sour, even if there's clear worry in those bottle-green eyes, but you can go ahead and scream about him going 'sweet and tender' on you again, Pavel.
[12:29 AM] Pavel Morozov already has his shirt off and a needle and thread in his hands, and is sewing up his own fucking bullet hole by the time Artyom gets there. His hands are shaking and he has a corner of blanket wadded in his mouth to bite down on and muffle any noise he makes, but he's fucking doing it, and he doesn't need Artyom's help, and after a flicker of his blue eyes up at his... Artyom, he curls down around his wound and steadfastly ignores his... Artyom.
[12:33 AM] Artyom Alexovich takes a breath, and lets it out as a sigh through his nose. He sets the first aid supplies down on the bed next to Pavel, but otherwise doesn't do anything. Pavel's definitely putting out an air that he doesn't want Artyom to help him at the moment, so unless he royally fucks up stitching himself together, Artyom's going to let him handle himself. He did bring supplies, though, if that helps. Fresh, clean bandages, anti-bacterial ointments, and so on.

He stands back, leaning against the wall instead, holding his clipboard and diary against his chest, head tilted down slightly as he watches Pavel with a hard frown.
[12:38 AM] Pavel Morozov can sew a straight fucking line, thanks. It only takes a few stitches to close up the bullet hole, and then he snips off the thread with a pair of shears clearly meant for cutting much larger things, and then he looks at the pile of bandages and medical supplies and...

He gives Artyom a hurt, wary look, face pale and damp with pain and eyes red from crying, and says... nothing. He just grabs his bloodied shirt and pulls it back on over his head, and settles back on the bed, oozing blood and clearly not giving a single goddamn about what Artyom wants him to do. Or possibly giving every goddamn and unwilling to show it!
[12:43 AM] Artyom Alexovich gives Pavel a very clear 'are you fucking kidding me' face because what the hell, are you being stupid on purpose?? He moves to step forward, want to- to do [b]something[/b], he doesn't want to just let Pavel hurt himself just because he's pissy at Artyom, but... At the same time, he doubts Pavel will let him help, so he just ends up standing there, clearly wanting to deal with the bandages and things with Pavel's wound, but he doesn't. Just looks between Pavel and the medical supplies, and then down at his socks, frowning hard and unsure what to do.

He wants to write something, wants to say something, but he doesn't know what, and with the way Pavel is acting now, he doesn't even know if he'll read it. ... He wishes, not at all for the first or even hundredth time, that he could just talk.
[12:46 AM] Pavel Morozov says, shoulders hunching as he rolls onto his side, "Why are, are you still here? You, you, you don't want to be around me, you've made yourself perfectly-- fucking perfectly clear, [b]d'Artagnan[/b]."
[12:48 AM] Artyom Alexovich bites his lip, and tries very hard to ignore the way being called that, and in that tone, makes his blood pump faster, and instead he takes a deep breath, and... and finally writes, on his clipboard, his diary held under his arm and the board balanced on his forearm as he writes with a little pencil nub.

When he turns it to Pavel, it says in very carefully written cyrillic, "I'm angry but I don't like seeing you hurt."
[12:50 AM] Pavel Morozov hears the scratching of the pencil, and half-unwillingly opens his eyes, rolling his head to read whatever Artyom has written--

It makes his brow knit, and a frown crease his round face, and he says, "What?"

Something in that perfectly clear statement is unclear to him.
[12:52 AM] Artyom Alexovich makes a face, and holds up a hand in a shrug, equally confused because [b]what do you mean "what"????[/b]
[12:56 AM] Pavel Morozov jerks his hand through the air, short and sharp, and says, "You-- then stop fucking-- you're angry, so you share food with me? You don't want me to hurt, so you act like my fucking p-pah-- pouring boiling water into a mug for you is an-- is disgusting? Oppa-pa-pa-pa-pa, we've found the opposite man! He does things that hurt you and then says he doesn't like to see you hurt!"
[01:07 AM] Artyom Alexovich glares harder and harder as Pavel talks, and when he's done with his main statement, while he's having fun being sarcastic, Artyom is already busy scribbling away with his pencil, occasionally stopping to cross something out, either because it was the wrong word or he'd misspelled it.

It takes him a while, writing quite a bit, but finally, he holds the clipboard out for Pavel to take and read, still frowning and looking a bit upset, and in letters slightly smudged or crossed out here and there, he's written, "Did you forget what you did to me? You drugged my drinks, had me arrested and turned me in to your people like a criminal and given a choice I couldn't make. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? I trusted you. I liked you so much. A part of me still likes you. But I still hurt. I gave you the orange slice because I wanted a fellow man from our Metro feel what I felt when I got to eat real ice cream again.

But you don't even know how badly what you did still hurts, and you keep rubbing salt in the wound. I don't like seeing you hurt and bleeding, but I am still angry, and you hurt me, too, being thoughtless like I could just forget what you did to me. I can't. I can forgive you, but it still hurts and I can't forget and I don't trust you."


What goes unwritten, is that he defaults to anger, because it feels less pathetic than acting like a weak little girl and getting pathetic or crying.
[01:17 AM] Pavel Morozov opens his mouth as he reads, then closes it, then opens it and stumbles over his words-- over and over, until he finally just swears, and drags his pillow over his face, and... and...

Pavel is all tense, wound tight as a guitar string, as he rolls onto his side again, facing away from Artyom, his injury easily accessible as he moans into the pillow, "Blyadj, do whatever the hell you want, Ranger." He doesn't apologize, but he doesn't press the conversation any longer.
[01:26 AM] Artyom Alexovich takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a slightly shaking sigh- he might've dragged up some emotions he'd rather not have, writing all that out, and he sniffs as he nods and gathers up the medical supplies so he can try and fix Pavel up a bit better, since he'll apparently let him.

Of course, he doesn't say a word, conversation thoroughly dropped with his muteness. Instead, he puts a knee up on the bed so he can better lean over Pavel, tugging up his under shirt a bit so he can look over the wound- ugh, all bloody. Artyom probably brought some washcloths along, so he dabs the blood away first, before taking up a squeeze bottle of antibacterial ointment, squeezing some out onto his fingers. His touch careful, he gently rubs the ointment into the wound, around and over the stitches. It's cool and gooey, but on the plus side, it probably has a bit of pain relief in it, on top of the analgesic Artyom injected Pavel with earlier.

That done, he dabs around the wound again at collected blood, before applying some soft, spongy padding over the wound itself, before he starts winding a gauze bandage roll around Pavel's middle, loose enough that it isn't uncomfortable, but tight enough to compress the wound a bit, and hopefully keep it from bleeding, and some medical tape to keep the bandage securely fastened.

Finally done, he moves away with a soft sigh, looking a bit calmer now, and he puts things away back into the first aid kid.
[01:32 AM] Pavel Morozov keeps the pillow over his face as Artyom works on him, not resisting in the least, far too busy trying to think through a morass of pain and emotion. He... he... he had known something, but...

When Artyom moves away, Pavel tells him, lowly, "... I liked you, too. When there wasn't a Line between us. And now there's no Lines at all, of any color." He wants it the way that it was, Artyom.
[01:40 AM] Artyom Alexovich knows. He knew then, too. When he and Pavel were fighting in the Red Square. The way he mocked and teased, the way he told himself more than his soldiers to follow the orders, but, admittedly, most especially because of what the little Dark One had said. That he could feel no intent to kill, or hatred, or even anger from Pavel as they shot each other. Only sadness. Artyom had only felt sadness, too.

At first, he'd wanted revenge. But at his first opportunity to take it, he couldn't, and he couldn't let someone else do it, either. By the time they fought for real, he wanted anything but.

Artyom nods, and takes up his clipboard again, to write once more, sitting on the edge of the bed this time. When he finishes, he simply takes the piece of paper from the clipboard, and places it against Pavel's pillow, to read when he feels like it. He can just ignore it. Either way, Artyom is now busying himself with writing in his diary.

Should Pavel decide to read the note, it says:
"I know.

And I know there's no barricade here, no factions, no Order or Reich or Federation or Red Line. But I can't help but think about what you'd do if there was. I can't help it."
[01:47 AM] Pavel Morozov kind of has to read it, doesn't he?

He slowly opens his eyes, and takes a look, and... and sighs, lowly, and offers it back over his shoulder to Artyom. "If," he starts, and doesn't continue with '-we fought again, would you kill me this time?'; "If it were," he begins, and doesn't say 'anyone but the red line, you'd still have nothing to fear from me'. "If I had a chance to do it over," he finally, and slowly, manages to get out, "I would hope we'd end up... better than this."
[01:51 AM] Artyom Alexovich would've said 'hell no' to the question that wasn't asked because, no, fuck, he can't. He couldn't. He couldn't then, and he most definitely couldn't now.

He takes a breath, taking back the note, to add in a new response. It's shorter, and he's handing the note back pretty quickly, but this time he keeps his eyes on Pavel, brow furrowed, waiting for an answer, because this time he wrote, "What would you have done differently?"
[01:57 AM] Pavel Morozov rolls back onto his back, hip brushing against Artyom's body as he settles and reads the note. "Maybe I'd just--" he starts, then shakes his head, passing the paper back. "I don't know. Maybe I'd do something crazy, and really get myself killed. Maybe I... could have... I don't know." He sighs, and hesitates, and says very lowly, "You saved my life so many times, Artyomich. What could I change that wouldn't leave me dead on the floor?"
[02:02 AM] Artyom Alexovich frowns hard, thinking of that. He... He doesn't like that idea at all, and he wants to say it wouldn't be true, and he- he writes quickly, turning where he sits, to better face the other man, before holding out for him to read, "I wouldn't have let that happen. I saved you from the Nazis, I murdered so many of them to save you, and I'd do it again. I would've gone after you if you were to be killed, if you hadn't done what you did. I would've saved you, or died trying."

He could've so easily been killed trying to save Pavel from the Nazis, and he could've just as easily left the man to be hung, save his own skin and continue on his mission. But even then, they'd barely known each other at all, and already... already, he couldn't, then.
[02:06 AM] Pavel Morozov reads it, and... god, Artyom.

He reads it, and curls his fingers over Artyom's, holding the paper. "Ah, Tyoma," he sighs, and squeezes, gently, his usually warm, rounded hand tacky with his own blood. "Would you have come back to the Red Line for me, if I'd taken you to Polis?"
[02:09 AM] Artyom Alexovich can't- can't write, with Pavel holding his hand and paper like this, (his heart beating faster) he takes his hand and paper back, to write again, ignoring the tacky bloody residue Pavel's fingers had left on his hand, and then again, the note is passed to Pavel, Artyom's brow furrowed and eyes firm and bright.

"If you had said you would be in danger, yes, I would have. Or I would've tried to not let you go back at all. You were my friend."
[02:13 AM] Pavel Morozov is quiet for a moment, then closes his eyes, and sighs. "Ah, treason. You make it sound so, so, ah, so easy, Artyom. How do you do that?"
[02:15 AM] Artyom Alexovich snorts, and then laughs, oh, God, the hypocrisy is staggering, and he needs a moment before he can write to Pavel again.

"You say this as if you and your people hadn't tried to strongarm me into betraying the Order. Is it really so one-sided to you, so black and white?"
[02:20 AM] Pavel Morozov can't help but smile, though, when Artyom laughs, mouth tugging up, and he tells Artyom, "If I had your skill with words, Tyoma, you'd have seen the light. Ah, well. They didn't hand me missions for my, my wordcraft, eh? And no great poetry would have been, been lost, if I'd died helping a quiet little ranger home."
[02:27 AM] Artyom Alexovich shakes his head, biting his lip, and sighs heavily as he writes, the strokes of his pencil against the paper firm, making dark, heavy lines, which he then holds out to Pavel to read.

"It wouldn't have happened if I could help it. I would've gone to save you, just like I'd done with the Nazis. Or you could've been safe in Polis, I could protect you there. But I wouldn't let you be killed, without dying trying to stop it. I told you, you were my friend. You were important. You're still important."

And as Pavel reads that, Artyom takes a few moments to breathe, to sniff quietly, and wish so very, very badly that things had gone differently, that he'd never had any reason not to trust Pavel, that Pavel hadn't shown unfavorable colors and betrayed him, hurt him, that they could've stayed friends.
[02:33 AM] Pavel Morozov feels a weird shiver on his skin, reading that, and bites his lower lip, hand raised to-- to--

He cups the back of Artyom's neck, very, very gently, and says, "All for one, eh?" in the softest voice he can manage. What had he done to-- to deserve such dedication? All his anger from earlier is gone, despite that his heart is beating hard and agitated, and his skin is shivering with feelings he's not entirely familiar with. He strokes his thumb against the side of Artyom's neck, and asks, "Can I be your friend again? Someday?"
[02:34 AM] Artyom Alexovich: (( pavel is gay ))
[02:34 AM] Artyom Alexovich: (( artyom is also gay but also heartbroken </3 ))
[02:34 AM] Pavel Morozov: ((shhhhh he hasnt figured it out yet))
[02:42 AM] Artyom Alexovich experiences a similar weird shiver, feeling Pavel's hand against his neck, the softness in his voice of a kind Artyom's never heard from Pavel before, the way he rubs his thumb against his neck. He has to admit, the muskateer saying still hurts, still dredges up anger and upset automatically, but he swallows that down. And he swallows again, shaking his head, eyes shutting tight, having a slighter harder time breathing, and there's so much brimming under his skin, so much feeling and so much of it he doesn't understand.

But his heart aches and beats faster, and his lungs flutter, his breath hitching, before his air forces itself from his throat, over his vocal chords, as his lips form words before he can really consider them, correcting Pavel in a terribly quiet, unsure voice, "... One.. for all."

The sound of his own voice forming words surprises Artyom, as it always does in the rare instances when he speaks instead of various non-word noises, and his skin feels hot, especially on his face, and he quickly scrawls on the note, against his hand, not wasting time using his clipboard, to write in messy, lumpy cyrillic, "Maybe someday."



But, honestly, with an utterance like that, as much as Artyom might try to stay angry again after tonight, as much as he might try to deny it, to try to feel like he has a stronger will, like he has no weaknesses, Artyom knows that it's probably not a maybe, and someday might come sooner than he'd care to admit.
[02:42 AM] Artyom Alexovich: (( artyom is very very gay ))
[02:42 AM] Artyom Alexovich: (( u broke his heart once pavel but it still beats 4 u... ))
[09:34 AM] Pavel Morozov has never heard Artyom's voice before, not-- not when it's making words, instead of grunting and grumbling and making little noises, and his heart flip-flops and his pain forgotten as he stares up at his... maybe-someday friend-again. Oh. Oh, Artyom, he might have been angry once (a few minutes ago), but now he's mostly just...

His hand slides from Artyom's neck to his shoulder, down the sleeve of his shirt, to squeeze Artyom's (his friend's) arm. "I'd like that, d'Artagnan," he tells Artyom, and rubs his thumb against the inside of Artyom's elbow, unthinkingly, looking up at him with blue eyes that are still red from crying, in a face still pale with pain, but still so hopeful and soft for a future where they're friends.
[09:41 AM] Artyom Alexovich doesn't want to admit that he thinks he'd like that, too. Not this early, not when Pavel seems to only just barely be catching on to just how much he hurt Artyom, how badly he'd broken Artyom's [s]heart[/s] trust. But there's an ache in Artyom's chest, a yearning to just let it go, to just smile and laugh it off, to follow Pavel's example and act like it's not a big deal. Even though it is, it still is. He can't let himself give in so quickly, needs to let Pavel earn his way back into Artyom's good graces. For his own wellbeing.

But for a moment, Artyom meets Pavel's eyes, bottle green to blue, with Pavel's thumb rubbing affectionately at his elbow and he almost gives in right there... but only almost.

Instead, Artyom suddenly gets up, and leaves the room... only to be back less than a minute later, holding that orange medkit full of analgesic needles, which he places atop the first aid kit, and then puts both of those on the nightstand beside the bed, in case Pavel needs them. In fact, he takes the orange case back up, and, this time, holds it out to the other man, in case he'd like to use one of the needles. (and this time not just stabbing him with one)
[09:55 AM] Pavel Morozov watches him go, a little more at peace, and watches him come back with a smile on his face instead of a frown. "Ah, no," he says, when Artyom offers the medicine to him, waving it away, "blin, I'm still feeling the last one." He laughs a little, and rubs his bare shoulder, where Artyom fucking stabbed him with a needle not ten minutes ago. Amazing, how fast things can change. "But thanks-- thank you, Tyoma. I appreciate it." He appreciates it so much, even if his belly and heart are still flipflopping when Artyom comes into his sight, does things so kind...

... maybe Pavel should apologize, but he doesn't want to do it right now, not when they're finally... not upset. Not when Artyom's being kind to him. What if Pavel breaks whatever spell is keeping Tyoma close and friendly, even though they aren't friends anymore?
[09:59 AM] Artyom Alexovich nods, and sets it aside then, with a little breath through his nose. Well, at least Pavel isn't doing too poorly, now. Hopefully the bandages are keeping the wound compressed and not bleeding out, and double hopefully those stitches Pavel put in will hold.

At the thanks, though, Artyom... actually gives Pavel a brief little half smile, even if his brow is furrowed, and he nods, accepting the thanks.
[10:02 AM] Pavel Morozov smiles back, and--

No. No, he should do it right now. He should-- "Artyomich, can you come here?" he asks, glancing away a bit, then struggling up on his elbows, to make it so that-- if Artyom does come closer-- he'll be on a more even level with him. He barely hisses in pain at all!
[10:04 AM] Artyom Alexovich frowns, and nods again, moving closer, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. He doesn't like the sound of that bit of a hiss, but Pavel's a grown man, Artyom doesn't need to baby him.
[10:10 AM] Pavel Morozov leans on one elbow, turning towards Artyom, and takes his hand in that hand, squeezing it a little.

"I believe you," he says, after a moment, "that you, you, ah, would have kept me with you in Polis. I-- I'm sorry that... that I didn't take you there, like I said I would." He takes a breath, and licks his lips, and says, tone soft "I shouldn't have-- have forced you into a position that would save my life. I should have trusted you'd do it on your own." His thumb is rubbing again, this time over Artyom's knuckles. "I made a mistake," he finishes, and presses his eyes closed, taking a deep breath.

It's not a very good apology, but it's more than Artyom has gotten out of Pavel previously.
[10:19 AM] Artyom Alexovich is mildly surprised by the man taking his hand, but he doesn't move to tug it away, letting Pavel hold it for now. And, as he talks, Artyom finds himself holding onto Pavel's hand just as much, squeezing it lightly, and he... has a bit of a hard time meeting Pavel's gaze, or even looking into his face, though he tries, even if it makes his cheeks go pink, and he bites his lip, especially as Pavel rubs his knuckles with a thumb.

He takes a shaky breath through his nose when the other man finishes, looking down at the bedspread. Sure, it's not the best apology, but... before, he didn't have one at all. And here he is, admitting he'd made a mistake, when he could've probably gotten away scot-free without one, seeing as Artyom had already given him his forgiveness, whether Pavel realizes it or not.

And he smiles, softly, nodding in acceptance, and... One-handedly, he reaches for his clipboard, to quickly scrawl something, and show it to Pavel; "I already forgave you. But thank you. It means a lot."
[10:28 AM] Pavel Morozov huffs a breath of laughter, and tells Artyom, "Ahhhh, ah, but, priyatel-- I-- I don't want to be forgiven and still not your friend." He hesitates, and adds, quietly, "And I really am sorry that it-- that I-- that I made things happen the way they did." He almost said it in a way that disclaimed responsibility, but-- but he has a feeling that Artyom wouldn't like that, would see right through that.

It would have been... easy, to do things the other way. If only he hadn't been thinking to himself about how good the information Artyom had must be, about how he could save his skin by sacrificing Artyom's...
[10:30 AM] Artyom Alexovich scoffs a little, and then, as much as it feels nice to hear that additional apology, he writes a bit more for Pavel to see.

"Too bad, you'll just have to deal with having my forgiveness but not yet my friendship. You need to earn that.

After all, I forgave you ages ago, in the Red Square. Too late to take it back, now."
[10:33 AM] Pavel Morozov blinks, and snorts a laugh, and says, "Ages ago?" But that was-- Pavel is still recovering from that! "You can call it ages ago when the wounds you left me with are just scars, not actually bleeding right now," he say, jokingly, and squeezes Artyom's hand in his, resting his forehead against Artyom's shoulder.
[10:35 AM] Artyom Alexovich looks at Pavel first with confusion, then with shock. Wait... what?? He pulls away from Pavel, in order to take his hand back so he can write more clearly, because what the hell.

"By my count, the fight at the Red Square was almost several months ago." The writing says. He should know, Anna was starting to look pretty heavy the last he saw her. And, further, it continues, "Are you telling me that it's much more recent for you?"
[10:39 AM] Pavel Morozov doesn't want to let go of his hand, though--

Ah, well, Pavel can be [s]excessively gay for Artyom[/s] affectionate later, and he lets Artyom take his hand back, and his shoulder back, and watches him write.

"... You're crazy, Artyomuchka," he says, brow furrowing, "it-- well, I was still bleeding when I got here. That's why I've been cooped up in this room for a couple weeks, you know? Fucking-- letting myself heal up, after Snake pulled the bullet out of my side."
[10:44 AM] Artyom Alexovich looks genuinely flabberghasted, because he can't be making it up! And yet... And yet it's not the strangest thing he's had to consider, not after knowing Khan.

When he writes again, it's slow and deliberate, his brow furrowed. Finally, he lifts his head as he shows Pavel the writing on the clipboard: "I think, whatever power that brought us here, took us from different points in time. You, from right after our fight. Me, from months later.

I have the long-healed scars from our fight and from the battle over D6 to prove it."
[10:44 AM] Pavel Morozov should be shown them, obviously. Artyom, take off your shirt.
[10:45 AM] Artyom Alexovich would show them if Pavel asked!!
[10:57 AM] Pavel Morozov WHAT ELSE WOULD ARTYOM DO IF PAVEL ASKED...?

He pauses for a moment, then asks, lowly, "Battle over D6?" That... did happen, then? He hadn't been certain that it would, but... "Were you hurt?"
[11:01 AM] Artyom Alexovich NOT A LOT AT THIS POINT... but showing battle scars? Sure!

He swallows dryly- right. Pavel... wouldn't be aware of all that, then. Shit... He clears his throat, and gets to writing, taking a few minutes, before holding the clipboard out again.

"I was, yes. They'd put me in a suit of heavy combat armor, but it wasn't enough. By the end of it, after the train, I could barely move, barely breath, barely even hear or see. After the battle was over, I was held up in medical for weeks. Not as bad as some others, but it was the most banged up I have been in my life."
[11:05 AM] Pavel Morozov says, softly, "Oh."

He... feels... upset again, but for Artyom, not at Artyom; it's a visceral anger, but he can't-- he feels weird, directing it at his own line, his own men. If he hadn't fallen at the Red Square, if he'd been assigned to fight at D6... would he have been part of hurting Artyom like that?

Would he have killed Artyom, all unknowing of the boy in the combat armor?

"Blyadj," he mumbles, and hooks his arm around Artyom, and presses his face into Artyom's shoulder.
[11:08 AM] Artyom Alexovich feels like he's said something wrong, with a reaction like that. He has the urge to tell Pavel he's sorry, even though he has nothing to be sorry about. He was the one who'd been hurt, after all.

He supposes, at least, that he should be grateful that Pavel isn't asking more about what happened at D6... yet. Artyom may be tempting fate, thinking that. But for now, he just... sort of awkwardly pats Pavel on the arm, frowning.
[11:09 AM] Pavel Morozov says, after a moment, "I'm glad that-- that-- you didn't die."
[11:09 AM] Pavel Morozov doesn't really know what else to say.
[11:11 AM] Artyom Alexovich pats Pavel's arm again, before writing again, his clipboard on his lap, holding it up where Pavel can see, once he's done. "I'm glad you didn't die, too. It would've been terrible if you'd died after I'd saved you."
[11:14 AM] Pavel Morozov turns his head to read it, and sighs, heavily, breath ghosting across Artyom's throat above his collar, arm tightening around his friend. "Yeah. I-- I'm glad of that, too. Better to meet again in the land of the living, eh?"
[11:18 AM] Artyom Alexovich shivers a bit, at the breath against his neck, goosebumps forming under his sleeves. Ignoring how weird that made him feel, he nods in agreement, patting the other man's arm once more.

Even if he's not necessarily glad to have met up with Pavel again, he is glad to know he survived. Glad to know that his efforts to drag him from the arms of the damned, his donated filter, hadn't gone to waste.