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He was unable to express the feeling. His surroundings occasionally felt icy, colder than any winter. He shivered and his teeth chattered. All forms of anxiety—fear, panic, horror—became a natural discomfort like the biting cold of winter. Deep in the night, when he would wake up in a cold sweat, the shade would take the form of looming hands and commanding eyes. A loud bang from fireworks or a fight outside his old flat would make him feel that he is traveling back in time. He would respond 'no' if someone asked him if he ever returned from war. Once a man sees the horror, he never returns. Can you still be considered human once you've been turned into a weapon or something to be feared? Can you be allowed freedom if you can no longer control yourself? His arm's presence felt like a burden heavier any physical weight in that moment. Was it really wrong for him to be controlled? It wasn't wrong to use a tool. Shouldn't he be glad that with his shattered mind someone still wants to make good use of him? Gregor couldn't answer his own questions, the only thing he really could say is that he never lived for himself. Perhaps that's why he could be so understanding. He couldn't blame a dreamer like Don Quixote, because he himself dedicated his life for the greater good, for the safety of his loves ones. The consequences are his to bare, his to accept. She undoubtedly had to pay a price of her own for her hopes for a better world. But it would be simpler for him to focus on what is happening and what is important, like Meursault. He occasionally wished he could do so, but he found it to be so painfully empty. If it were only for him, he wasn't sure what he would wish for. It felt egocentric, and yet he couldn't label Meursault as selfish.
Then he suddenly realized that he was in a hotel bed. Vergilius was nice enough to avoid packing the sinners onto one bus when they were camped out in yet another mission. He wouldn't know if it had anything to do with them finally finishing their task despite their incompetence. He wasn't sure what had brought him back; it may have been Meursault's loud snoring or the noise of the city. Recently, they frequently discovered each other partnered up. Something about forming a decent team. Not that Gregor would disagree, but Meursault was too much of a stoic man to be able to decide whether or not he liked being around Gregor. At least he himsel enjoyed this, he concluded. His mind was filled with memories of his discussions with the now-sleeping man. Most of them were fairly regular topics. Frequent small talk and Gregor's efforts to come off as relaxed. Meursault never refused him, even if it was obvious that he didn't see the purpose of it. The man next to him seemed to wake up, it seemed morning has come.
As Meursault got dressed, he asked something that caused Gregor to go completely silent: "Why do you lie?"
It was straight to the point and yet also vague. But he felt as though he was being faced by something he had been avoiding for a long time.
"what do you mean, bud? I'm just dandy. Too lazy to hide stuff, if im honest." he said, raising an eyebrow. This was anything but natural, he felt anxious.
"Every time someone makes fun of you, your mouth twitches. When Vergilius orders you around, you clench your fists. I don't understand it because you just shrug it off or nod in agreement right after."
He tried to say, "You do the exact same," but he was unable to get the words out.
"Doing as instructed and maintaining professionalism is simpler. I'm sure you can get behind that." he said, less animated than normally.
"But you do it all the time, even when you don't need to."
Gregor wanted this to be over and felt rage rising in his chest.
"Listen Tin Man, you spent all this time cutting off all the small talk, and now you're up in my business," he replied. Letting out a groan, he realized he could relax use a smoke right about now. He turned to face Meursault. "Can a poor man catch a break here?"
Meursault maintained his neutral expression.
"..."
Gregor expected as much. As he moved to open the window and ultimately took a cigarette out of his pocket, he relaxed as he took a breath. The fresh air was also doing him some good. He sensed the stress ebbing away from his mind.
"Even if I might not fully get the motivation behind this, I will eventually reach a conclusion. Similarly to how you will." Meursault caught Gregor's attention as he murmured quietly. As if trying to be more careful with his words.
Gregor couldn't resist cracking a smile. "It seems 'the Tin Man' has a soft spot after all."
Meursault looked at him, confusion written on his face. "I say similar things all the time."
Maybe Gregor didn't give his intentions much thought, he was a little embarrassed to think that this was motivated by worry for him. He had to admit that Meursault was terribly awkward when dealing with such personal topics, but he was certainly perceptive, even considerate. Gregor couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous his mental gymnastics were. He approached Meursault and blew smoke in his face.
He grinned and said, "This is for trying to dig in my head." His nose was wrinkled up and his brows were furrowed. He wasn't coughing, so he must have been accustomed to the smoke. Gregor thought he looked cute little this. He almost gave him a kiss, but he quickly put the thought out of his mind. He was certainly feeling lonely, wasn't he? He patted Meursault on the shoulder firmly. "And this is for bein' considerate."
The gesture confused Meursault. In general, Gregor had him confused. The man was so difficult to read and understand, but it seemed important and enjoyable to do this. This felt like feeling the weight of your own body when worn out. Although difficult, it's comforting to feel present, to feel real. He intended to ask Gregor if he also felt this, but that would have to wait until they had another moment to themselves. He followed him out of the hotel room for the time being, ready for the next mission.