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Artem listens to Rosa's chatter attentively, never taking his eyes off the top of her head. As the escalator slowly creeps upwards, he holds on to the handrail with one hand and keeps the other hand slightly to the side to support Rosa in case of an emergency.
Her sweet voice switches from topic to topic: from the bitter coffee in the coffee machine at the law firm to the complex situation of a client from a recent case. From the unimportant to the important and back again — until suddenly her tone grows anxious:
— Mr. Wing?
Artem frowns, raises his head. The gaze of his cold, soft sapphire eyes meet the warm gaze of bright emerald ones.
— Are you alright?
— Sure.
Artem answers stiffly and only furrows his eyebrows further. He feels a little nauseous — just a little motion sickness in the underground, a fresh street breeze would blow in his face any minute at that point and it would all go away. Rosa stops talking, leans a little closer. Her fingers clench the sleeve of his grey jacket.
— I am unwell? — sounds unsurely. The nausea only intensifies and the steps underfoot swim before his eyes. The man grips the handrail tighter, looking under his feet until they step off the escalator.
It's just nausea. It's nothing, it'll pass. He's fine — he's always fine.
Worried, Rosa squats down beside him — when has he even squatted — puts a hand on his shoulder.
— Mr. Wing? — is her voice trembling? Artem feels a sharp pang of guilt. Making her concerned, afraid. He squeezes out a weak smile and shakes his head.
— I'm fine, Rosa. Are there any vending machines in here? It'll be all right in a minute.
The girl shrugs her shoulders in confusion, but has no time to reply: Artem is already on his feet. He gives her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, the two take a few steps towards the exit to the underground passage.
And Artem stumbles.
— Mr. Wing! — Rosa instantly steps forward to catch him, but the man quickly orientates himself almost blindly: the stone floor and walls are blurred, he sees nothing but dark spots; yet stands up, looking around confusedly.
A blurry glance snatches the word "coffee" from the floating corridor, he takes a timid step in that direction, unknowingly dragging Rosa behind himself.
— Mr. Wing, are you sure you need coffee right now? — Rosa asks incredulously. The man shakes his head, muttering something about tea under his breath.
— A cup of black tea, please, — the plastic card squirms on the terminal, Artem blinks rapidly, trying to see something, but gives up when he hears the sound of reading. His legs could hardly hold him up.
The top-rank attorney squats down again, leaning his back against the glass, covering the menu of the small coffee shop with the broad shoulders. Rosa fusses around him, squeezing his hand, looking anxiously into his eyes — but Artem can't keep the eyes open any longer.
— How about an ambulance? — Whose voice is that? Artem looks up tiredly: there is a man beside them, he noticed him out of the corner of his eye as he exited the underground. It doesn't matter who it is, though. An ambulance? For him?
— No need, thank you, — Artem replies hastily, not letting Rosa get a word in edgewise. He's sure it will all go away now.
Getting up at seven in the morning every day, swimming, exercising, eating relatively healthy meals regularly — except for the occasional coffee — always pays off in terms of his excellent health. Sometimes Artem catches a cold, sometimes his shoulders get stiff. But even now, when the ground is slipping under his feet, the man is not afraid for himself — he feels guilty. Before Rosa, with whom they were intending to have lunch before the NXX meeting, before the frightened barista, even before that stranger who mundanely suggested calling an ambulance. Why is everyone so worried? Nothing has happened.
— Would you like some water? — the girl asks from behind the counter. Water might help, Artem thinks, and answers:
— Water? Yes, please, water is...
Pouring some water for him isn't a big deal, is it? The others won't have to mess with it for too long, will they?
When Rosa hands him a glass with cold water and two ice cubes, Artem clutches it like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. After two sips, the deafening noise in his ears subsides. As the empty glass returns to Rosa's palm, he can already see what is going on around him.
— I'm fine, — Artem says with another weak smile on his lips. Rosa doesn't really believe him.
After the NXX meeting, the attorney puts the papers into a folder. He has been dizzy all the way to the headquarters, but the headache is gone, and now his heavy head is filled with thoughts about tomorrow's working day instead.
— Marius is going to give us a lift.
Artem flinches in surprise, turns around confused at the voice. Vyn is standing behind him with his usual nonchalant expression, and his tone tolerates no objections.
Marius? What a strange act of unprecedented generosity. Usually everyone gets home on their own, sometimes the men took turns giving Rosa a lift, but never each other.
— No need, — Artem shakes his head, snapping the folder shut. Really. It's very embarrassing.
— Come on, Artem, we're going the same way anyways! — the younger von Hagen replies cheerfully. Has he been here all this time? Artem rubs the bridge of his nose. It can't be that Marius volunteered. A wary look of soft sapphire eyes meets the confident gaze of the gold ones hidden behind the glasses. Vyn says nothing, but instead reaches out and deliberately touches Artem palm, which is still holding the papers. The psychiatrist takes the folder, but Artem is sure - he doesn't need it. Back there, in the underground, Rosa mentioned something about how cold his hands were.
So Rosa told them what happened before the meeting.
All the way home they are silent, with some light music playing quietly in the younger von Hagen's car. Marius peeks at Artem through the rearview mirror from time to time, while Vyn sits serenely beside him, occasionally glancing back at the lawyer, pretending to look out the window.
Artem does not immediately realise that they have passed the turn to Vyn’s house a long time ago. Marius parks at the entrance to the multi-storey building and turns to the passengers with a cheeky smile.
— Here we are. Good night!
— Good night, — Artem reaches for the door handle, but before he touched it, a stranger's palm taps his fingers. With that weightless touch Vyn draws attorney’s attention to himself:
— Good night. Please, have a dinner and go to bed. Do not overexert yourself. Not tonight, at least.