['Don't... Don't say that.' The plea, quiet and soft, startles him almost more than anything else. The tight, anxious tension beneath Konstantin's sternum is almost unbearable; it's like waiting on the precipice of a steep cliff, and he's tilting too far forward, about to lose his breath. He can't... imagine what it is that this man could be about to say, and the palpable trepidation in Vasiliy frightens him.
He falls silent, eyes locked onto the younger man's face, staring as he listens. 'I'm not a good person' he says, and that's familiar, so familiar; how often has Konstantin felt that way about himself? About what kind of danger he continually puts Vasiliy in by virtue of existing under the same roof as him? About the fact he can't, won't give him up, clings onto the security and companionship like a lifeline, one he knows he doesn't deserve?
But this isn't about his guilts and ghosts, it's about Vasiliy's. Whatever's... haunting him.... and then it comes. An interrogation — not the first time, something he was good at; Konstantin's not quite grasping the bigger picture here, brows knit in deep confusion and deeper worry as he stares at the other man.
The book's opening and his eyes drop down to it, still not understanding, still trying desperately to. But then a thing is revealed to him in that picture-form alone, in the photograph that Konstantin gently reaches to take from those quivering fingers, turning around to stare mutely down at the thing.
A handsome young man, and two people that Konstantin would immediately know are Vasya's parents, even if they weren't posed in the obvious way; the man has his nose, the woman his eyes.
A uniform. It comes from an era a generation before his time, a period that ended just around his birth, but he recognises the significance the way anyone from their culture would. A point in history that's fresh enough the horrors are still felt in a particular way.
He doesn't need clarification on most of this; he knows, understands, and that understanding is right there in his eyes as he takes in the photograph, stares at the familiar face of his housemate. Vasiliy was an officer, an interrogator, in the NKVD. He was good at it.
It's the next part that Konstantin has to affirm, even if something in him maybe understands this, too. His voice is soft, quiet, and strangely calm. ]
no subject
He falls silent, eyes locked onto the younger man's face, staring as he listens. 'I'm not a good person' he says, and that's familiar, so familiar; how often has Konstantin felt that way about himself? About what kind of danger he continually puts Vasiliy in by virtue of existing under the same roof as him? About the fact he can't, won't give him up, clings onto the security and companionship like a lifeline, one he knows he doesn't deserve?
But this isn't about his guilts and ghosts, it's about Vasiliy's. Whatever's... haunting him.... and then it comes. An interrogation — not the first time, something he was good at; Konstantin's not quite grasping the bigger picture here, brows knit in deep confusion and deeper worry as he stares at the other man.
The book's opening and his eyes drop down to it, still not understanding, still trying desperately to. But then a thing is revealed to him in that picture-form alone, in the photograph that Konstantin gently reaches to take from those quivering fingers, turning around to stare mutely down at the thing.
A handsome young man, and two people that Konstantin would immediately know are Vasya's parents, even if they weren't posed in the obvious way; the man has his nose, the woman his eyes.
A uniform. It comes from an era a generation before his time, a period that ended just around his birth, but he recognises the significance the way anyone from their culture would. A point in history that's fresh enough the horrors are still felt in a particular way.
He doesn't need clarification on most of this; he knows, understands, and that understanding is right there in his eyes as he takes in the photograph, stares at the familiar face of his housemate. Vasiliy was an officer, an interrogator, in the NKVD. He was good at it.
It's the next part that Konstantin has to affirm, even if something in him maybe understands this, too. His voice is soft, quiet, and strangely calm. ]
Until what, Vasya?