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alexbrunn · 7 days

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The train began to move.

Everything had returned to normal. The Termina festival ended with the ascension and mercy of the machine god Logic, and there was no longer any need to kill innocent people.

Sitting in the train speeding away from the ruins of Freheville, Pav pulled out a crumpled photo from his pocket. He had barely survived, but his family hadn’t. Pav kept recalling the scenes of his precious family and neighbors being brutally trampled and violated by the Bremen military. It was the only way he could sharpen the blade of revenge aimed at Kaiser. But Kaiser had disappeared like a summer urban legend. At the very least, Pav should have inflicted a mortal wound, but he couldn’t do anything. Over a decade had passed since he enlisted in the army of the enemy he despised, and now, he had no idea what he needed to do to save his tormented soul. Should he return to his homeland? Would the people of his home welcome Pav, who was, in the end, little more than a traitor who turned his back on his country? Carefully, Pav folded the picture in half. The bright smiles of his much younger siblings disappeared with the crease. He didn’t know who to blame. The plan he had prepared for so long had failed, but his body was still intact. He would track down Kaiser’s whereabouts. Just as his thirst for revenge flared once more, he heard a rustling sound.

When Marcoh realized Pav had no place to return to, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head. His habit of feeling sympathy for someone in dire straits, even a war criminal, was hard to shake. Karin, the woman they had met in Preheville, scolded Marcoh, asking how he could feel sympathy for someone who had almost killed him with a bullet. She pressed hard to interrogate Pav about the Bremen Empire's military experiments.

"I don’t like women who talk too much," Pav said, waving his hand dismissively at Karin, treating her like a bothersome insect. The few people trying to calm her fiery temper looked rather pitiable.

Surrounded by the crowd that eyed him warily, Pav silently listened as they debated what to do with him. "The war’s over, so why bother?" someone muttered. Others argued back. Pav buried his face into the velvet couch, pretending to sleep. He neither defended himself nor expressed anger; he just endured the stones of hatred and pity silently. "The war is over." The words circled in his mind like flies on rotting food.

"I might be able to help you."

Pav’s head snapped around at the voice. Marcoh. The big man, with fists like meat hammers, spoke up. "I have a sister. She lives in a villa..." And? So what? "I could ask if you could stay there." You’re serious? "After all, you weren’t truly part of the Bremen army, not in your heart. I’ve done things I didn’t want to do, too." Pav felt a surge of irritation at the thought that Marcoh felt some kind of kinship with him. Don’t look at me with pity, he shot back in an exasperated tone. "I’m not doing this because I pity you. I just want to give you a chance." Marcoh had long since made up his mind. He was a man of strong conviction, and there would be nothing Pav could do to disappoint him now.

He wasn’t particularly devout, but he was a follower of Allmer. When he was young and working as a shoeshiner to buy sneakers for his younger sister, the clear chimes of the prayer hall intrigued him. He would push open the grand doors and face the imposing statues and crosses that even the thugs in the alley dared not challenge. That was when Marcoh began to believe in God. To be precise, he hoped that if God existed, He would protect his only family, his sister, and give him the courage to survive in the mire of the Vatican orphanage. Even if he adapted to reality, it didn’t mean he shouldn’t have hope. Marcoh dreamed of traveling the world with his sister someday. Though it seemed an unlikely dream given their financial situation, imagination was not a crime, and he could wish for it in his heart. If given the chance, he wanted to taste various gelatos around the world and become a zoologist.

Pav found Marcoh somewhat bothersome. Despite his size, Marcoh was very naive and immune to worldly affairs. Even after moving between the slums of the Vatican and underground arenas, he always flustered when dealing with elderly people in need. His naivety led to him being pickpocketed multiple times, and Pav had to chase away scammers who targeted Marcoh. Moreover, Marcoh had a fondness for small animals and often had a flushed face. Contrary to his mafia-like appearance, Marcoh was a man with a kind heart.

Pav, on the other hand, was different. He wasn’t cunning from birth, but he had a knack for sneaking into his father’s wallet to buy pistachio ice cream or inserting himself into the pecking order disguised as boys’ games. Pav’s mother would often smile with a girl-like laugh when she saw him bouncing around restlessly like a frog, unable to endure boredom. Although Pav’s mischief was annoying, the negative feelings melted away because he was family. Pav’s father was often busy and rarely home, leaving the task of taking care of Pav and his siblings mostly to their mother. Pav would watch his mother’s back as she handled the household chores alone. “You’re the eldest, so you must grow up to be reliable,” his mother would say, gently stroking Pav’s golden hair.

Golden baptismal light shines like a nebula in the reed fields of nostalgia. The fresh scent of his hometown lingers at the tip of Pav's nose. He slowly opens his eyelids and kicks the blanket off with his foot. Again, it’s that damned dream. The past he thought was forgotten has once again gnawed at him like a rat eating poison. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his forehead, Pav gets up and walks to the kitchen. Marcoh’s sister has probably gone out to work at the laundromat. Pav’s room is located at the far right end of the house, so it’s rare that he encounters her. Although Marcoh had warmly accepted Pav living in the same house, which made Pav dislike her less, he still didn’t approach her much. Despite her short bob and refreshing appearance making her an attractive woman, Pav, who had a lascivious side, was deterred by Marcoh’s evident affection for her. It was curious that she seemed content with their current poor and mundane life, and Pav found the siblings either naive or foolish, looking down on them with disdain.

Even at Marcoh’s cheerful “Good morning,” Pav remained indifferent, rolling his eyes without saying much. Marcoh had become almost too polite, a stark contrast to the sly Bremen officer Pav had encountered in Freheville. No, it wasn’t politeness but rather indifference. Given that his plans to end his life had collapsed and he had nothing left to lose, it was no wonder he had let go of any hopes. After seeing the village become a mess of fires and shells while fetching water for his whiny younger sibling, Pav had grown pessimistic about everything. He had become skilled at being sarcastic and remained cynical, just like he had been in the train. The only person who saw any potential for redemption in him was Marcoh. Pav scoffed at Marcoh, as if to say, “People can’t be fixed.” When Marcoh diligently wiped the dust from the surface with a damp cloth, Pav clicked his tongue. (His habit of clicking his tongue, it seemed, was unshakable.)

Breakfast is served on the table. Pav pokes at the mashed potatoes and dry bread with a fork while observing Marcoh’s expression. He looks as serene as a monk. In truth, Marcoh was conscious of Pav but didn’t want to show too much sympathy for fear of making Pav uncomfortable. On the other hand, he was concerned about him. Whether as a new family member or a friend, Marcoh wondered if Pav could endure the ambiguous relationship. It felt like bringing a rebellious stray dog into the house. Marcoh understood Pav’s resistance to this difficult situation, as he too remembered the war and saw why Pav, who never loosened his vigilance, was so cold. PTSD. It was probably that. Although Marcoh didn’t know the exact nature of post-traumatic stress disorder, being a clump of sticky mud from over ten years in the battlefield, Pav’s coldness was understandable. Marcoh felt as though Pav’s wandering was somehow his own fault.

But it was Pav who broke the silence that filled the dining room. "Why don’t you say something? Sitting here like this makes it seem like we’ve had some kind of marital spat." He set his fork down on his plate and leaned back in his chair, arms comfortably draped over the armrests. The atmosphere was so heavy it was ruining his appetite.

"Uh... thanks. For starting the conversation." Marcoh, now faced with the challenge of keeping the dialogue going, scratched his head. He wasn’t as articulate as Levi, whose mind was unsettled by the long war. The sight of Marcoh struggling to pull together something to say so as not to miss the chance for a smoother relationship seemed pitiable to Pav.

"Oh, don’t mention it. How's the gym going?" Marcoh looked surprised that Pav showed interest in him and put down his utensils.

"I’ve taken it over. The previous owner was moving away."

"Is that so." Marcoh didn’t say “Good for you.” Pav’s manners had long been mixed with cow manure in the Boronya reed fields.

The silence was so profound that even the sound of eating was absent, making the air extremely awkward. Marcoh had to activate his brain again to come up with some plausible topic.

"...Do you regret it?" Regret what? Pav’s busy hands suddenly stopped like a red traffic light.

"No." He chewed the morsels in his mouth a few times before swallowing them. The plate was clean. Marcoh’s cooking wasn’t half bad.

"You must be thinking that I can't adapt here and that I resent you for bringing me into this place..." The pendulum clock ticked away.

"That’s not true." I don’t regret anything. Not joining the army of the one I hate, not following you.

So don’t pity me. Pav stared at the empty plate for a moment before getting up from his chair. His sapphire-like blue eyes fixed on Marcoh.

"I’m going to live on. You gave me a chance. And I’ll kill Kaiser. By any means necessary." Pav curled one corner of his mouth into a slight smile. It wasn’t a smirk. It was a reassuring smile.

"So don’t try to please me like a frightened puppy. That’s even more irritating. ...Oh, one more thing, sprinkle some sugar on the bread. I like it sweet." Marcoh nodded in understanding. Pav went back to his room.

It was the same breakfast as usual. Marcoh was a little pleased that he might be able to make meat stew for dinner tonight.

#Marcoh takes such great care of Pav it's just so adorable 🥺🥺🥺#My heart beats so hard for them💖💖💖#MARCOH IS THE BEST BOYFRIEND ON THE PLANET EARTH #Pav is incredibly lucky to have him

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