Chapter Text
Gregor would breath heavily, a hand wrapped tightly around his pulsating insectoid arm.
“Please– don't hurt me sir!” The woman stood there, frozen, the tip of a brown bug appendage threatening to severe her head from her neck.
“CUT IT OFF! CUT IT OFF!” Gregor cried out, trying his absolute best to pull back his wretched limb, the arm acting on its own accord.
He’d squeeze his eyes, the memory just one of many reminders of why he needed to keep himself under control. He didn’t need help, he didn't need to talk it out- he just needed space, a moment to breath, or he’d find himself, no, the arm pierced through someone’s heart. Calm down, Gregor. Words he’d repeat to himself, at first he would only need to repeat them to himself a couple times a day, yet he found himself constantly mummering it to himself, a broken record which could only soothe him so much.
He sat at the back of the bus, tucking himself away behind the door of the room they used for storage. Hair untied, curled up. It was pathetic, he felt pathetic. He had been through so much worse- watched hundreds of his men die, lived in isolation, been forced into a war when he was just a highschooler. Yet this was what made him crack?- no, he’d always been cracked, each memory creating deep cuts into the sturdy clay he’d built around himself. But after so much, he could only take so many hits, one or two more and he’d shatter into pieces. He’d become fragile.
He never understood why people tried to help, Well- he did. He just didn’t understand why they wanted to help him. He remembered it as clear as any other day. A tall dark haired strangers dragging him out from his apartment complex, saving his life from hoards of infected neighbours that he had never even bothered to get to know. Since the outbreak was made public, he had himself set on the idea of letting himself rot away in his apartment- letting infected feast on his body. But someone had helped him- saved him. Why did Meursault do it? Obligation? Pity? Who on earth would ever want to save some pathetic veteran like him, especially one who looked so similar to the parasites that threatened their very lives. A writhing vermin, a convulsing bug that squirmed under the giant foot of an over looming threat, thats what he was.
Maybe Hermann was right.
The thought was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door, the vibration of the fist against the wooden door Gregor leaned back on was enough for him to dash forward, shuffling away from the door in a brief moment in panic, like a wriggling house pest.
“Gregor?” A familiar voice called out, the tone calculated, trying not to sound too desperate but not too sad or angry “Can I come in?..” A pause “Please.” It cracked, desperation in their voice flowing through cracks.
Gregor would hesitate, lips parting to speak.
“..Come in.”
His voice came out raspy and cracked, like he hadn’t spoken in a bit. And with that, light from the bus hallway poured into the pitch black room, a hand raising to shield his sensitive eyes. He never liked light.
A tall brunette stood at the door, still dressed in the same clothes. She’d hesitate the door, her left foot stepping forward into the room with a mixed look of determination and solemn.
“Please. Lets talk.”
“Rodya..” He’d soften up a bit, knowing she was never one to seek reconciliation, not on her own at least. She’d usually silently apologise, acting especially goofy and jokey the next day. Maybe she was trying to convince herself that everything was OK like he was.
“Im sorry.” The words slipped out barely under a whisper, cracking between syllables as she’d finally stepped in, closing the door behind her as she’d lower her body and sit in front of the other. “I shouldn’t have flipped on you over such a- a minor thing, ya know?”
Gregor would answer with a subtle nod.
“I’ll never truly understand the pain of what you’ve been through, I don’t think anyone here will.” She’d look away “-But I still think its unhealthy to let all that simmer and mix around in your head, y’know?” She’d take a moment to pause, mouth ajar yet words not coming out as she’d hesitate- looking pained. “We’ve all been through so much, different backgrounds n’all that..No one will ever understand fully how anyone else will- not unless your like some supergenius. But i'm sure not even Faust understands. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make the effort to try and open up. We’ll be stuck together for god knows how long.”
Gregor visibly tensed, her words not piercing his cracked clay exterior too much.
“I promise Gregor, i'm not saying this because I wanna feel all high and mighty. No one does. I and everyone else wants to help because we worry for you, you’re our friend.”
He’d shut his eyes, remembering all the looks of disgust from each member. The way Ishmael stared at his arm like it would jump out at her and kill her, the way Heathcliff and Hong Lu audibly gasped, months of stares and silent pity and judgement. They cared? Sure.
“Okay.” He’d speak, his voice softening to its usual easygoing and relatively regular voice. He’d go along with it for now, better then dealing with this anymore. He was tired, exhausted.
Rodya would smile, extending a hand.