Work Text:
Faint moonlight filtered in through the narrow openings of the workshop windows, flickering on the side and top of the benches, lining everything with a silvery edge. The room is wrapped in dark velvet, extending to every corner and crevice, enveloping the usually busy workshop in an almost suffocating ink blue. A small, intense white light dangles above a single workbench, illuminating the figure of a man silently working on his device. There is a sense of tension floating in the air, and it seems to radiate off him, a sort of nervous insecurity so unnatural to the usually tough and skilled operator.
The night hides things, and offers a home to those that does not belong in the daylight. Shuhrat didn’t remember where he heard it from, probably Ryad during some covert mission. He had scoffed at the Spaniard’s words, and yet he now drives himself straight into that same night that hides everything.
It was always the seemingly well-adjusted people that plague themselves with the most self destructive habits. He remembers the first time he sacrificed sleep and got up at 2 AM to work on his charges, a secret laid out in the open yet no one bothered to address. Shuhrat is not blind, he knows what people think of him. Side glances filled with scorn and disdain, smirks followed by some crude remark, faces smeared with a vague distrust that he cannot pinpoint but can understand. So he chose the easy way out, by avoiding everything and isolating himself. Maybe then, he’ll hear less of ‘Why haven’t your charges killed you yet?’ .
And yet he’s still human, despite his efforts trying to confine any form of emotion within him. There were nights when he felt overwhelmingly demotivated, fingernails chipping aimlessly at the glazed wooden desk top, eyes obscured by unwanted tears. The moisture eventually clouded his thoughts along with his vision, leaving tiny, deep crimson blood marks scattered across his hand. He doesn’t mind, so long as the job is done. After all, the night shields him, gives a home to his vulnerable side that doesn’t belong anywhere. He could hide the scars inside his solitude.
So Ryad was right all along. Building up a solid concrete wall around him is his easiest way to deal with anything. Shuhrat is sure of it—if none of his emotions show, if no one can get to him, he could be as good as invincible in everyone else’s eyes. He blinked the tears away, holding the spanner in a death grip as he twisted it sharply at the single protruding nail. And by creating that illusion, maybe he would actually become invincible.
Days go by, each one trailing after the other without much change. Shuhrat is fine with it. He doesn’t need anything else to disrupt his routine—it allows him the comfort of his own shell.
On April 17th, 2:30 AM, someone else creaked the workshop door open, set his ADS on the bench right next to Shuhrat’s, smiled faintly, and started working.
Naturally, no disturbances in Shuhrat’s meticulously crafted comfort zone would go unnoticed, yet he chose not to address it. Marius’s presence is mildly irritating with his enthusiastic ramblings about his gadget and engineering, but nothing unbearable, thus Shuhrat chose to simply disregard it. The fact that their gadgets works directly against each other didn't help in the slightest. There is a tangible awkwardness congealing in the air, yet both men chose to carry on without acknowledging it. The nighttime workshop however, became just a bit brighter with the second white light.
Maybe light is a contagious thing—not malevolent, but infective enough to seep into its surroundings. Although Marius’s unceasing chatter distracted him and even annoyed him at times, it is human company after all, and even the blackest iceberg needs a speck of sunlight. And someday later the German curiously peeked over his shoulder, short sandy hair rubbing against his temple, with another question about his cluster charge that he has already heard for countless times.
Shuhrat jerked back, unaccustomed to physical contact. He glanced up at the defender, visibly agitated, spanner still gripped so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Back off.” The words seems unnatural spilling from behind gritted teeth. “Who told you it’s okay to jump on a complete stranger like that?”
“But we’re not complete strangers right? You know my name.” Marius stepped back, his innocent large eyes still fixed on Shuhrat’s face. Seeing the Uzbek’s lack of response, Marius quickly added, “I’m sorry. But if I’m annoying you, just tell me, okay?” before turning back to his workspace, shoulders drooping. His lashes flitted lightly, the blue in his eyes seems to drip out in a restrained nervousness.
The spanner’s metal surface made an audible clink as it fell onto the ground, the clear sound reverberating and rippling through the room like water. Shuhrat stared.
He stood there for a whole minute, staring at the light deflecting off the silvery spanner. The German seems to have recovered quickly, back to working on his ADS with deft fingers that were perched on Shuhrat’s shoulder just a minute ago. Yet he didn’t utter a single word, even cautious as to mute the clanking of the tools on his gadget. Seeing Marius so unnatural made Shuhrat feel as if someone punched him in the gut, an incisive pain blooming inside his stomach. It was almost as if he turned into the exact type of person he loathed—the aggressive Russians screaming obscenities, all of them directed at him, a young immigrant, wide-eyed and ingenuous. He made his way back to his workbench, head buzzing with unnamable sentiments.
Wasn’t that the exact reason why you closed yourself off? A small voice whispered at the back of his brain. Are you sure you want Marius to be just like you, an unfeeling stone, loathed by everyone? Shut up, he thought. Shut up. But you know it. You know. You know you never wanted to be like this. He closed his eyes, laying his head down on the table. This shouldn’t happen. Not here. Not now. Stop being an oversensitive idiot.
It’s getting increasingly difficult to focus on his work with the myriad of thoughts crashing and filling up his mind until it starts to run over, an irregular colorless river falling onto the floor. He exhaled, paused, and looked up at the clock. 3:27 AM. It has been fifteen minutes since he yelled at Marius. The German is still focused on his gadget, working noiselessly, the shadow casted by his figure melting into the night.
He placed the tools back on the desk before him, turned around towards Marius, still gazing at the floor with his back hunched and hands folded across his lap. Marius didn’t seem to notice his movements, fixated on his engineering. Shuhrat opened his mouth, and no voice came out. He tried again.
“So. You want to know? You want to know why?” Shuhrat’s emotions are barely perceptible, as it had always been. Yet there’s the faintest tremble in his voice, and it caught Marius’s attention. The German stirred from his seat and edged the seat towards Shuhrat, a visible glint of curiosity and a sort of empathy dancing in his eyes.
“Know what?”
“Why I’m like this. Why everyone hates me. Why I got angry at you for just being friendly.” He paused, swallowed, and sighed. “Why I’m such an antisocial freak that people think I’m a misanthrope.”
The rock is breaking apart, and both of them can see it. The smaller German nodded, then quickly bit his lips into a thin nervous line. “Yeah! I mean, uh, only if you actually want to. And…” He looks deep in thought, chewing lightly on his lip. “Well, also, I don’t hate you. Nor do I think you’re an antisocial freak or a misanthrope, even if I don’t know you that well. To me you’re just…quiet. Wanting your own space instead of dealing with people. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Ah sorry sorry, I might be rambling too much again. Please say what you want to, I’m here.” He stared down at the floor, eyes slightly twitching, gaze quickly dashing around the room like a rabbit looking for predators. Shuhrat managed a small smile.
“It’s to protect myself. If I act unaffected by everything, maybe people will think I am. I know people hates me. My gadget. What with collateral damage and all. It hurts people, people that shouldn’t be hurt. And…they act like I wanted it to happen. I don’t. I just want to get things done and get the fuck out. I know, I’ve been there. I immigrated to Russia as an Uzbek kid. They hated me. Xenophobia was…a big thing back then. Was really rude to me and all.” Shuhrat glanced up, only to meet Marius’s large watery eyes. Calmly listening, no signs of disinterest. 3:30 AM, yet the German’s focus isn’t lacking in the slightest.
It’s amazing what people will do when they are nearing the edge. Just like a hospitalized patient with all connections from the outside world cut off from them, desperately ranting to the nearby nurse about all their problems, Shuhrat continued telling Marius practically everything despite having lashed out at him just a few minutes ago. He has no mind or heart to be worrying about the consequences, if any. He simply wants relief. Taking a deep breath, Shuhrat continued.
“Ah. Sorry. But basically I used to...let it affect me. Cried a lot. Wondered why people hates me. And then I knew. It’s because they can see that I get distraught over their words. So I started bottling it all in. It was hard at first, but it worked. It works now. Maybe they trust me less, think I’m a bad person, I know all that. But in their eyes, I’m invincible now. And they can’t get to me anymore. So...I win in the end. I think.” Without an immediate response from Marius, he added a final sentence hastily. “Forget all that. Not important.”
Marius sat in silence, the streaks of moonlight reflecting off his dusted blue eyes, almost as if he’s crying. The silence steamed away, bubbling with the anxiety Shuhrat thought he’d left behind. He wants to know what Marius thinks of him, and the stress of it is getting unbearably suffocating. And just then, just as Shuhrat was about to give up, the German got to his feet. He shuffled nervously towards the larger man, eyes fixated on the floor, before they raised up and met the pair of golden eyes before him. There’s something behind the gold tinted irises that he sees, some sort of glittering teardrop or a spark of vulnerability, and he was drawn to it. “Shuhrat…can I hug you?” Marius blurted out, arms semi-stretched out in front of him hesitantly, trembling slightly with apprehension.
He didn’t know what drove his actions. Maybe it’s because he felt Shuhrat deserves it—the silent and stoic man, always tinkering away on his own devices, always the first to be shunned from any event, closed off from the world. Maybe he thought the man deserves some affection, a beam of warm light that penetrates his unfleeting, solid, icy darkness. And maybe that light would bring him out of the enclosed shell that he built for himself, to make him feel the warmth of another human being, to feel alive again. Or maybe it’s simply because Marius couldn’t find a better way to show him that he cares. Marius has never been the person that people goes to for comfort, being the socially awkward and easily excited person that he is. He had no idea what to do when a cluster of emotionless rock breaks down in front of him, showing the vulnerability that no one thought existed. And from his limited experiences, he knew hugging someone is an expression of support, so it became the first thing that occurred to him.
Warmth washed over Marius’s body as the other man wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t expect Shuhrat to accept it, much less initiate it. It’s a rare sight, seeing someone encased in a rocklike emotionlessness stepping out of their shell, even just for a short while—and this single moment is all that Marius needs. A single gesture that shows he’s willing to open up, willing to talk to someone about his problems, even if it’s in the least expected manner. Marius felt a wetness smudging in his hair, accompanied by a faint sobbing. He made no comment on it, but held Shuhrat tighter. The Uzbek returned the gesture.
For a split second, Marius saw something glowing within Shuhrat. It was fleeting, but surely there. He pulled it into his mind, mulled over it within the warmth of Shuhrat’s body, and finally saw it clearer under the ivory light. A fragment of himself. The fear of being misunderstood by others, of having his heartfelt intentions thrown carelessly on the ground and trampled on. The insecurity that courses through his veins, intensified by others judging him with slanted eyes. The awkwardness that seems to be so deeply rooted within him that it’s became part of his identity. He was sure of it.
Marius smiled slightly as Shuhrat pulled away from the hug, something glistening in his eyes and sliding down his cheek. Maybe the deep night is making him sentimental. Either that, or another bit inside his personality appeared suddenly in sharp focus following Shuhrat’s words. Somehow he’s lost his ability to speak, yet he stepped forward to wipe the tears off Shuhrat’s face with his hands. His movements are clumsy and lacks all forms of grace, but Shuhrat didn’t flinch.
“You’re crying. You don’t deserve to cry.”
The moonlight seems almost piercing now. Shuhrat hates it when his flaws are laid out so plainly across the table, but he forcibly restrained his anger. He was the one who needed comfort, he shouldn’t be one to complain.
“I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll be here for you. Even if no one else will. I just want to help. Only if you want me to, though. Is…is that okay?”
“I guess.”
“So…I guess I saw a bit of myself in you, the way people would shun you for the way you do things, and how you interact with people. It takes a lot to try to get people to like you, and I don't want to pretend that I know, because what I know barely compares up to yours.”
Marius’s words shot through the darkest part in his personality, and maybe it isn’t the words that he wanted to hear, but he needed it. At least in this moment. He nodded silently.
“And as for being aggressive with me…I don't blame you at all. Even if I'm trying my best, there's always people that disregard me because of how I present myself. I’m smart, I know that stuff. I’m way too awkward for people to be comfortable with, and they say I’m…what, an elitist? They don’t like the way I do things, said I have a weird attitude, all that. Heh, I really do suck at social stuff. But, I just want you to feel a little less alone, you know? because I've been alone for the longest time in my life, and I never liked it. I don't think people voluntarily choose solitude, they choose it because there is no one around them that gets it, and that it's a good disguise. but…if you ever choose to put that disguise down, I'm here.”
You’re ranting again , Shuhrat thought with a small smile. But he’s not angry this time, nor annoyed. The German’s voice seems strangely warm, smooth yet not unpleasant.
“Thank you, Marius.”
“There’s…really nothing to thank me for. I just talk too much about what I think. Oh, and here’s a thought.”
“What?”
“Well, if they want to hate us, they can hate us together. Isn’t it better to face that with someone rather than alone?”
“Heh. Maybe.”
Shuhrat didn’t realize that it’s the first time he had genuinely smiled in months. For some reason he finds an unprecedented sense of comfort in the German, seeing his eyes light up in a spark of curiosity and shifting to a soft compassion, smiling shyly after a long rant—the sight seems somehow comforting. Maybe his life simply lacked something that shines so brightly it could tear his darkness down, and thanks to an unexpected twist of things, he found that light in Marius.
Maybe it’s the beginning of something, a small flickering flame that would one day grow to encompass the world in its starry, fiery light.
“Ahaha…that was kinda awkward since we never really spoke before, but I think I’ve learnt a lot today.” Marius is staring at the floor again, this time Shuhrat could see his pale eyelashes highlighted bright white. A purity he has never seen on anyone before, transparent and untainted. It fixed him to the spot, staring at Marius with intrigued eyes, searching for the source of his light. He found none; it emitted naturally around him. But one day in the future he might come to know Marius better, and maybe then he will show him.
Shuhrat snapped himself out of his daze, his own golden eyes met by Marius’s light blue ones. “Oh. I’m sorry. Was thinking about something.” He quickly turned away, eyes inadvertently landing on the clock once again. Exactly 5:00 AM, giving him less than four hours of sleep time, but strangely he was not repulsed by the notion. “Still. Thanks, Marius. It…really meant a lot to me.”
The German blinked, face melting into that innocent bright smile, radiating sunshine. “I’m glad! Ah…it’s so late. I’ll be seeing you around, Shuhrat. Go get some sleep, you need it.” And with that, he packed up his tools swiftly and swept out of the room, leaving with a small wink and a quick wave.
Light truly is contagious, thought Shuhrat as he finally put his work away. The sun is rising in the horizon, just the slightest hint of gold, and for the first time in the thirty or so years of his life he is not afraid to face it. And this light, this one dragged me out of the night and gave me a home in the daylight.