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Vladimir stared up at the ceiling, following the splintering cracks in the plaster as they formed a web across the white expanse. The neon billboard provided ample illumination for his wandering eyes, even in the dead of night.
He tried not to let his mind travel into the depths of his subconscious. He tried to hold onto the present and control his breathing. He tried, squeezing his eyes shut as the repeated images played behind his eyelids.
He could see deep red seeping through the thick paper that had been wrapped haphazardly around his brother’s dead body and listened to the crisp crackling as he peeled it away. The metallic tang of blood tinged the air, prickling at his nostrils and teasing the bile rising in his throat. He scanned the clothes his brother had been wearing, the same loose jacket he had stolen from a guard in Russia, too proud of his achievement to stop wearing it, and a pair of sturdy boots Vladimir had bought him three years ago.
Vladimir could feel the cold skin, limp and lifeless under his fingers as he raised the fabric of his brother’s shirt to scan for tattoos. His stomach clenched painfully as he cataloged every patch of ink he had seen embedded in his brother’s flesh over the years. The bile was rising, stinging his throat and burning his nose. He screamed at everyone to get out, to leave.
He listened to the door slam and the room go silent.
He stared at his brother, at the place where his head used to be.
He could still hear the lilt and laughter tugging at each word his brother had spoken to him, the joy lacing his speech as they planned to rule Hell’s Kitchen together.
He stared at the lifeless form lying on the table in front of him.
He was alone.
He rushed over to a metal bin and emptied the contents of his stomach. His hand gripped the metal rim painfully and he blinked back hot tears.
He was alone.
He choked back a sob, heart beating heavy in his chest.
Vladimir felt the mattress dip as Matt adjusted, slamming him back into the present as Matt rolled over and tossed an arm across Vladimir’s stomach. His skin was warm, and the pads of his fingers were shooting sparks up Vladimir’s side as they smoothed along his ribs.
“Can’t sleep?” Matt asked, voice raspy with tiredness. Vladimir hummed in response, swallowing the lump in his throat. He focused on where their skin met, on the steady pulse he could feel radiating through Matt’s body. It helped a sense of calm settle over Vladimir, bringing his heart rate back down. Matt sniffled and pressed gently, “What’s on your mind?”
“Too much,” Vladimir replied softly. He brought up his hand and rested it on Matt’s arm, soaking up the body heat they now shared. “Nothing for you to worry about, Matvey.”
Matt made a small noise of agreement and settled in against Vladimir’s side. He was still quite stiff, breathing a little too measured, and eyes still staring at the ceiling.
“You know, you’re allowed to talk about him,” Matt offered quietly.
“I… don’t want to.”
“It could help. If you tried,” Matt added.
“It hurts too much to- I’m not sure if I can,” Vladimir huffed.
“Well, I’ll be here. When you’re ready.”
Vladimir felt the iron grip on his heart loosen ever so slightly. He let out a soft breath and sank back against the plush mattress. Matt scooted impossibly closer, his head resting against Vladimir’s chest and his hair tickling Vladimir’s nose. The Russian leaned into it, taking in the comforting scent of Matt’s tea tree oil shampoo.
His eyes drifted shut and sleep greeted him like a weary friend. He welcomed its embrace and fell into blissful oblivion.