Chapter 5 Voices Lost #2
Before he could stop himself, he spoke.
"I'm sorry."
That finally got Viktor's attention.
Dark eyes shifted toward him.
For the first time since arriving, Elias noticed how tired they looked.
Not physically tired.
Something deeper.
"What for?"
"The tattoo."
The silence that followed lasted several seconds.
Elias immediately wondered whether he had made another mistake.
Then Viktor looked away again.
His gaze returned to the darkness beyond the camp.
"You didn't know."
"No."
"No reason you should."
The words were simple.
Yet they felt important.
Because Viktor wasn't angry.
Not really.
Just hurt.
A difference Elias was only beginning to understand.
"I still shouldn't have pushed."
Viktor considered that.
Then nodded slightly.
"Maybe."
A small victory.
Not forgiveness exactly.
But acceptance.
Elias took it.
The conversation drifted again.
Slowly.
Naturally.
Like water finding its own path.
They talked about small things.
The camp.
Construction.
The weather.
Nothing particularly important.
Yet each topic seemed to chip away at the distance between them.
At one point, Elias found himself laughing at a story involving a broken forklift and three extremely stubborn electricians.
The fact that Viktor had told the story at all felt remarkable.
The fact that it was funny felt even more surprising.
For a man with a reputation for intimidation, he possessed a very dry sense of humor.
The discovery pleased Elias far more than it should have.
Time passed unnoticed.
The stars shifted overhead.
The air grew cooler.
Eventually the conversation slowed again.
This time neither seemed eager to fill the silence.
Elias glanced sideways.
Viktor's attention had returned to the darkness.
The older man's expression looked distant.
Far away.
Like part of him wasn't sitting on the trailer steps anymore.
A familiar sadness settled across his features.
Elias recognized it instantly.
The same sadness he had glimpsed before.
The same sadness hidden behind the memorial tattoo.
The same sadness that never completely disappeared.
Carefully, he chose his next words.
"You don't have to tell me."
Viktor didn't respond.
Elias continued anyway.
"About the tattoo."
The older man's jaw tightened slightly.
"I know."
More silence.
The night seemed to hold its breath around them.
Elias wasn't sure why he kept talking.
Perhaps because he understood what it felt like to carry things alone.
Not the same things.
But loneliness had many forms.
"Sometimes talking helps."
A humorless smile touched Viktor's mouth.
"That's what therapists say."
"You've met a therapist?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Elias laughed softly.
That earned a faint shake of Viktor's head.
For several moments, neither spoke again.
Then something changed.
Subtle.
Almost invisible.
Viktor's shoulders lowered slightly.
Some tension left his body.
The wall didn't disappear.
But maybe a crack appeared in it.
Just enough.
"My brother was younger than me."
The words arrived so quietly that Elias almost missed them.
He immediately went still.
Not wanting to interrupt.
Not wanting to scare the moment away.
Viktor continued staring into the darkness.
"He followed me everywhere."
His voice sounded rough.
Not from emotion.
From disuse.
Like these memories hadn't been spoken aloud in years.
"When we were kids, it drove me crazy."
A faint smile appeared.
Gone almost instantly.
"He never stopped talking."
Elias listened.
Nothing else.
Just listened.
The older man swallowed.
The movement looked difficult.
Painful.
"He thought I knew everything."
Another pause.
"He was wrong."
The sadness beneath the words struck Elias hard.
Because it sounded like regret.
The kind people carried forever.
Viktor rubbed his thumb against the side of the coffee mug.
A nervous gesture.
The first Elias had ever seen from him.
"He used to call me whenever something happened."
His voice lowered further.
"Good day. Bad day. Didn't matter."
The stars reflected faintly in his eyes.
For a moment, Elias thought the story might continue.
Instead, silence returned.
Longer this time.
He waited patiently.
Finally, Viktor exhaled.
A slow breath that seemed to carry years of grief with it.
When he spoke again, his voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I don't remember my brother's voice anymore."
The confession shattered something inside Elias.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it wasn't.
The words felt devastating in their simplicity.
A man terrified that memory itself was disappearing.
A man fighting to hold onto someone he loved.
A man losing that battle one piece at a time.
Without thinking, Elias moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He reached across the small distance separating them.
His hand settled lightly over Viktor's.
Not forcing.
Not demanding.
Just there.
An offering.
A silent acknowledgment of pain.
For one terrible second, Elias expected Viktor to pull away.
The older man hated vulnerability.
Hated exposing wounds.
Everything about him suggested retreat.
Instead, Viktor remained perfectly still.
His hand stayed beneath Elias's.
Warm.
Rough.
Solid.
And for the first time since they met, he didn't pull away.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither needed to.
The night stretched endlessly around them.
Two men sitting beneath the stars.
One carrying grief.
The other simply refusing to let him carry it alone.
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