Chapter 4 Cracks in the Armor #2
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
"There you are."
Viktor looked up from the trailer step where he sat drinking coffee.
Elias approached carrying his sketchbook.
Of course.
Because apparently avoiding him wasn't an option anymore.
The younger man stopped nearby.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're staying."
That earned a laugh.
The sound seemed to happen frequently around Viktor.
Usually at his expense.
Elias lowered himself onto the opposite end of the step.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Workers moved around them.
Music drifted from somewhere farther down the row of trailers.
The camp felt peaceful.
At least by construction camp standards.
Eventually Elias glanced toward him.
"I showed some of the redesign concepts to Carlos."
Viktor recognized the name.
One of the workers from the housing section.
"And?"
"He liked them."
"Good."
"He also had about twenty new suggestions."
"That sounds like Carlos."
The younger man smiled.
"I think half the camp has opinions now."
"Welcome to construction."
Elias laughed again.
Then silence settled briefly.
Comfortable silence.
The kind Viktor wasn't used to sharing.
He found that realization unsettling.
Across from him, Elias seemed lost in thought.
His gaze drifted toward Viktor's arms.
Toward the tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves.
Viktor noticed immediately.
Years of experience had made him sensitive to where people looked.
Especially when it came to the ink covering his body.
Most reactions fell into predictable categories.
Fear.
Curiosity.
Judgment.
Occasionally admiration.
The younger man's expression contained none of those.
Just interest.
Genuine interest.
That somehow felt worse.
Because curiosity led to questions.
Questions led to places Viktor preferred not to visit.
Sure enough, Elias eventually spoke.
"What does that one mean?"
Viktor glanced down.
The younger man pointed toward a tattoo winding around his forearm.
Black lines intertwined with geometric patterns.
Nothing particularly dramatic.
"Nothing."
Elias immediately looked skeptical.
"People don't usually cover themselves in permanent artwork that means nothing."
"Some do."
"You don't."
Viktor sighed.
The kid was annoyingly observant.
"It's old."
"Amazing explanation."
"It wasn't supposed to be one."
Elias grinned.
The expression transformed his entire face.
For some reason, Viktor looked away.
A safer decision.
The younger man continued studying the tattoos.
Not aggressively.
Not intrusively.
Simply curious.
"What about that one?"
Viktor followed his gaze.
A faded design stretched along his wrist.
The ink had softened with age.
Years of work beneath harsh sunlight had taken their toll.
"Got it when I was twenty."
"That's not what I asked."
"No."
"It isn't."
The conversation should have annoyed him.
Strangely, it didn't.
Maybe because Elias wasn't asking for gossip.
Or entertainment.
Or stories about violence.
Most people assumed tattooed men wanted to discuss crime.
Fights.
Bad decisions.
The younger man seemed interested in the person instead.
That was unusual.
Dangerously unusual.
Another question followed.
Then another.
Some Viktor answered.
Most he avoided.
The exchange became almost effortless.
The kind of conversation that happened when two people stopped trying quite so hard.
At one point, Elias showed him several new sketches.
Community gardens.
Improved outdoor spaces.
Housing modifications.
The enthusiasm in his voice became impossible to miss.
Architecture clearly wasn't just a career path.
It was something he genuinely loved.
Viktor found himself listening.
Actually listening.
Watching Elias explain ideas with animated gestures and bright eyes.
The realization arrived suddenly.
The kid looked happiest when discussing ways to improve other people's lives.
Not when talking about money.
Or status.
Or success.
Just people.
That was unexpectedly attractive.
The thought appeared before Viktor could stop it.
He immediately pushed it away.
Bad idea.
Very bad idea.
Elias Hart was temporary.
A university project.
A few months at most.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Unfortunately, convincing himself became increasingly difficult.
The younger man's attention returned to the tattoos.
His gaze moved higher.
Toward Viktor's chest.
A subtle change passed across his expression.
Recognition.
Memory.
Something.
Viktor knew exactly what he'd noticed.
A portion of black ink remained visible above the collar of his shirt.
Most people ignored it.
Elias didn't.
Of course he didn't.
"That one."
The younger man's voice softened slightly.
Viktor felt tension immediately settle into his shoulders.
"Elias."
"What does it mean?"
The warning went ignored.
Not intentionally.
Just because Elias genuinely didn't understand.
His eyes remained focused on the visible ink.
Concern replaced curiosity.
The shift felt dangerous.
Far more dangerous than the questions themselves.
Because Viktor knew what came next.
The tattoo wasn't decorative.
It wasn't artistic.
It wasn't casual.
It was a grave marker carried beneath skin.
A memory.
A loss.
A wound that never fully healed.
Elias tilted his head slightly.
For the first time all evening, he seemed hesitant.
Careful.
Gentle.
"What about the memorial tattoo?"
The words hit harder than they should have.
Everything around Viktor seemed to freeze.
The laughter from nearby workers.
The music drifting through camp.
The warm evening air.
All of it faded.
Only the question remained.
Memorial tattoo.
Simple words.
Painful ones.
Without warning, Luka's face appeared in his mind.
A younger brother with an easy smile.
A loud laugh.
Too much confidence.
Too many dreams.
Gone.
Just gone.
The familiar ache opened inside Viktor's chest.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Unwelcome.
He stood abruptly.
The movement startled Elias.
Confusion flashed across the younger man's face.
Regret followed almost instantly.
As though he realized he'd touched something fragile.
Something broken.
"Elias."
This time Viktor's voice sounded rough.
Even to his own ears.
The younger man swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
The apology made it worse.
Because Elias hadn't done anything wrong.
Not really.
He was curious.
That was all.
The problem wasn't the question.
The problem was the answer.
And Viktor couldn't give it.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Without another word, he turned away.
The camp stretched before him.
Rows of trailers.
Dust-covered roads.
Workers enjoying the evening.
Anything was better than staying there.
Anything was easier than talking about Luka.
Behind him, silence lingered.
Heavy and uncomfortable.
Viktor kept walking.
He didn't look back.
Didn't stop.
Didn't explain.
Yet long after he'd disappeared into the darkness between trailers, one thought continued following him.
For the first time in years, someone had asked about the tattoo.
And for the first time in years, part of him had actually wanted to answer.
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