Letting her hold him close, Gleb feels his jaw tense, lets it happen, knowing that's the one thing he can do that won't be noticeable under the circumstances. He doesn't want to push her away, even with the sick sort of feeling that's settled in his gut; he doesn't want to parrot her own words back at her with what it sounds like they mean. She needed him here because Dmitry is gone. A small, traitorous part of him — ironic, probably, when he's been a traitor for months now, when the most traitorous thing he's done is loving her in the first place — can't help but think back to the day she came to tell him about Dmitry's confession, when she couldn't answer if anything would have happened between them if Dmitry had been there first. He'd felt like nothing so much as a replacement. Now, though he knows she hasn't been with anyone else since they started sleeping together, that feeling has returned, making him wonder about what the nature of any of this might be.
Perhaps the worst part is, no matter how bitter he might be, he knows he would be that for her if it were the only way to be with her. He's lost so much of his dignity already, it doesn't seem any worse to knowingly be her second choice, if it came to that. Beyond that, though, everything is an odd mess that he can't seem to sort out. He'd like to be grateful that Dmitry is gone, his last of very few encounters with the other man memorably unpleasant, but he can't, not when Anya is this upset, not when he has to see her this upset over the loss of someone else.
Were it just a friend, perhaps, or anyone he didn't know she had such complicated history with, or even anyone whom he hadn't seen act the way Dmitry did that afternoon they were all in the elevator, it wouldn't matter. He can't very well expect to be the most important or the only person in her life. It's the man specifically who makes it all murkier, not least when Gleb doesn't feel as if he can say a thing about it.
"You have me," he says, quiet and a little hoarse, keeping his voice low the only way to ensure that it stays steady and without emotion. "You always have me." She called and he dropped everything and came running, and it was all because of another man. He wants to understand, wants not to be angry with her when she's lost someone whom she cared about, but it's a difficult thing to repress. Or maybe he's just angry at himself for giving himself to her so fully when he always knew she had feelings for someone else. "I'm not going anywhere."
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Perhaps the worst part is, no matter how bitter he might be, he knows he would be that for her if it were the only way to be with her. He's lost so much of his dignity already, it doesn't seem any worse to knowingly be her second choice, if it came to that. Beyond that, though, everything is an odd mess that he can't seem to sort out. He'd like to be grateful that Dmitry is gone, his last of very few encounters with the other man memorably unpleasant, but he can't, not when Anya is this upset, not when he has to see her this upset over the loss of someone else.
Were it just a friend, perhaps, or anyone he didn't know she had such complicated history with, or even anyone whom he hadn't seen act the way Dmitry did that afternoon they were all in the elevator, it wouldn't matter. He can't very well expect to be the most important or the only person in her life. It's the man specifically who makes it all murkier, not least when Gleb doesn't feel as if he can say a thing about it.
"You have me," he says, quiet and a little hoarse, keeping his voice low the only way to ensure that it stays steady and without emotion. "You always have me." She called and he dropped everything and came running, and it was all because of another man. He wants to understand, wants not to be angry with her when she's lost someone whom she cared about, but it's a difficult thing to repress. Or maybe he's just angry at himself for giving himself to her so fully when he always knew she had feelings for someone else. "I'm not going anywhere."