The first time Danya coughs blood into his hand, he manages to hide it from the others. He wipes it away on his trousers until it blends with the other assorted stains, then smiles when they ask if he’s okay, and makes up something about swallowing a bug. It’s hard to lie to them, and it gets even harder when they accept it without question, Vadim joking that maybe he should “think about keeping his mouth more closed”.
Gleb pipes up with a “you didn’t seem to mind his mouth being open last night!”, before tearing off across the Garbage, Vadim on his heels and spluttering half-hearted threats. Neither of them notice Danya glancing at his now clean palm as he follows in their wake. Maybe it's just a one-time thing...
It’s not, and the next time is even harder to hide. They’re following a ridgeline, anomalies forcing them dangerously close to the edge, when the ground gives way under Danya’s feet and sends him tumbling down the steep slope. He hits the ground on his back and, for a moment, feels okay. He gets to his knees, and then the coughing starts, painful spasms coming from deep within his lungs. This time, the blood that spurts from his throat is not a surprise. Through the ringing in his ears, he can hear Gleb and Vadim calling to him as they search for a way down; he’s glad they can’t see him like this.
By the time the pair have rejoined him, worry etched all over their faces, Danya has regained control, the blood mixed into the mud until invisible. He lies again, tells them the impact knocked the breath out of him, makes a quip about how clumsy he’s getting in his old age. To his relief, the pair laugh, and they all set off again.
The third time, he’s not quite so lucky. The coughing creeps up on him as they’re getting ready to settle in for the night, on three mattresses pushed together in a quiet corner of the Freedom base. He ends up hunched over in the middle of the room, both hands pressed to his mouth as the painful hacking threatens to send him over. As the fit subsides, and he moves his hands away to stare at the thick red clots staining his gloves, he feels a large hand rubbing warm circles on his back...
And Vadim’s quiet, dumbstruck “oh” as he notices the red still dripping from Danya’s mouth.
Every explanation he has ready shrivels up and turns to dust when he looks up and into Vadim’s eyes, heart breaking as Gleb joins them, first confused, then distraught. He can’t so much as force out a single word. Even as they beg for a response, for answers, for reassurance, all Danya can do is stare at his own hands. Even as the room begins to spin, and a ringing picks up in his ears, and darkness clouds his vision, all he can do is stare... and stare... and fall.
He wakes up later, although he’s not sure precisely how much later, to pale light coming in through a window, a heavy arm curled around his waist, soft, dark red hair tickling his throat, and quiet snoring from both sides. In his mind, Danya knows he should wake them up, and explain everything, but his heart won’t let him. Instead he closes his eyes again, shifts until he can interlock his fingers with Vadim’s, and bury his face in Gleb’s hair. Words can wait. Right now, he thinks, what they all could do with is a little bit more sleep.
