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Red was spread on the cold floors of the bathroom. In it lay tiny petals of purple, shining in the sun coming through the windows. There stood a man of great danger, one eye covered by a card while the other was blown wide. His gloved hands covered his bloodied mouth as he remained there shaking. Whether it was from emotion or the force of vomiting, he had not the faintest clue. Overwhelmed, the guy fell to the ground, a loud noise erupting from his knees.
Before long, he, Nikolai, let out a hysterical laugh. It cut through the air like a knife, leaving ghosts to shiver if they had been present. “What a mess,” he whispered to no one in particular as he eyed himself in the mirror across from him. Hardly, Nikolai could see the shaking figure of his, red staining his skin and cloth. His head spun due to rapid blood loss, and his vision was blurry. Not only that, the man’s feelings made him almost throw up anew.
The day wasn’t special, per se. Prior, Nikolai had merely allowed himself to be a bit more touchy with one specific person, touches lingering long enough to make him feel burnt. During the mission that they underwent and afterward, the clown held the other’s hands with a sweet promise of death. Escaping the cage leading to liberty was his goal, and the demon named Fyodor prevented him from performing such actions, chaining him down instead. Despite uttering such things, no blood had been shed from the other’s skin.
Now that Nikolai gazed at the mess of blood, he found it ironic. Even if he wanted his dear friend to bleed, he ended up hurt instead. Considerably, the situation only got worse from there. After all, another realization dawned upon the man as he reached for the petals.
He was in love.
Nikolai knew of the Hanahaki Disease; a victim in one of his missions had suffered from it. Back then, Fyodor had calmly explained the concept of such a disease. It came from unrequited love and, although rare, could lead to death if not handled properly. Such an illness brought up an irony Nikolai couldn’t help but laugh at. Those immense feelings he harbored for the other were love? Wasn’t the solution easy then, and shouldn’t he just perform the act of killing he had desired already?
Yet, as Nikolai grabbed the knife he had with him, he moved not a single muscle. “Love?” he murmured with a sad expression on his face. Despite the solution being clear, awareness of those feelings weighed him down. “If this is love, I don’t want to be loved,” the clown suddenly exclaimed with a slightly louder voice, standing up with trembling legs. The happiness from such love was a distant stranger for Nikolai, entirely titled as a fantasy.
In the end, his life was far from ordinary, and so was he. For him, love restrained one’s action rather than providing the joy it was supposed to give. The freedom the clown so dearly desired would be out of reach, his wings broken. However, being able to name the emotion of giddiness he felt around Fyodor explained a lot. No matter how many times he talked about the death of his friend, the action was never performed in such a way that would’ve harmed Fyodor.
So, he cared, didn’t he? He had fallen in love with the man he was supposed to hate. But in the end, such hatred could’ve formed from that love. Those two feelings coexisted but rarely went hand-in-hand. For a regular person, that is. Nikolai was no such person, the line between love and hate so blurry his one eye couldn’t tell the difference. Such complicity in emotions led to the miserable state he was in at the moment.
He hadn’t even acknowledged his love being unrequited. After all, Fyodor was a man possessing no emotions of that kind, as Nikolai had found out. The man was dangerous and cunning, leaving no room for useless emotions like love. Even then, if Nikolai was to love someone, he appreciated it unreturned. Otherwise, his affection would become so overwhelming that he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
However, there was some type of longing burning in his vulnerable heart. Nikolai imagined how his hand would fit into the ones of the other or how he would feel upon hugging the man. Before long, his throat ached again, the red liquid pouring out. Purple petals accompanied the blood, some settling on his shoes. Desperately, Nikolai hurried to the sink and leaned over it. Coughing and screaming were mixing, creating the beautiful sound of anguish.
It took some time until peace returned to the room, drops of blood dripping the only disturbance present. As his hand wiped off the blood on his face, the clown gazed at his reflection in the mirror anew. “How pathetic I look,” he murmured with a sigh, his voice wavering. Then, Nikolai straightened his posture and returned to the center of the room. His surrounding was a mess, and so was he. Laughing bitterly, he grabbed the knife again, eyeing it with great interest.
Wouldn’t it have been so easy to remove the one obstacle in his life?
With that thought in mind, he exited the bathroom and stepped into the hallway of the school. It was an abandoned building that he and Fyodor were tasked to investigate. The latter had left prior, while the former desired to stay a little longer. Truly, Nikolai had merely hoped to get away from the other to let the burning in his throat escape. Now, however, he needed to return to their shared apartment.
As he walked toward the school exit, he gazed at the dark sky outside. Surprisingly, lots of time had passed, leading to day turning into night. It allowed him to sneak through the streets without the blood on his clothing being noticed. Despite his body trembling and his throat hurting, the clown put a smile on his face as he closed the doors behind him. Whistling to cheer himself up, he walked on decayed grass and teleported to the other side of the gate.
Due to the spot appearing creepy, even haunted, to most, no one got close to the shut-down school. It helped their investigation greatly not to be disturbed. After all, the school had traces of the Book. Kamui, or rather Fukuchi, had discovered significant clues leading to the location of one of the pages. He then ordered the two to investigate further, as they were the only people available for that mission. Not that Nikolai would’ve complained usually, anyway.
During that time, Nikolai clung to Fyodor more than necessary, the burning in his throat intensifying. After searching everything and receiving good results, Fyodor offered to leave, while the other declined. “I would love to stay here for some more exploring,” he said with his fingers fumbling by his side. Oh, and Fyodor knew. Nikolai saw it in those deep, purple eyes of his that shone with something akin to understanding. “I see,” the other replied with apathy, turning around to leave the building.
It felt maddening to watch the person by his side depart. And yet, it was as if he was finally free to let go of his feelings. Without looking, he ended up in the bathroom nearby, vomiting his brains out.
In memory of that moment, Nikolai merely smiled further, his braid swinging in the wind. A few petals were left on his clothes that he brushed off as he walked. Despite the emotions in his heart calming down, he knew they would all come back up again as soon as he sighted his partner. How unfortunate for him to catch feelings. It disrupted his thinking and plans, the biggest obstacle in life.
Caught in thoughts, Nikolai barely acknowledged he had reached his destination. Looking around to see if anyone was watching, the clown raised his coat and drowned in it. First, he was surrounded by the darkness before his head peaked out from somewhere else. “I have returned, Fedya~” he announced happily, appearing right behind Fyodor. The person in question didn’t flinch, merely setting down the pen he had been writing with.
Their apartment was anything but big. It had necessities such as a kitchen, a living room, and two separate bedrooms, but that was it. Most of the time, Fyodor worked in the living room, undisturbed by his rather loud roommate. In the end, they would soon travel to Japan. There was no use for big houses and mansions if they were to be left behind, anyway. It was a waste of money, even if Fukuchi insisted.
“Welcome back, Kolya,” Fyodor hummed as he turned around to face the other. “What happened?” Upon receiving the question he had hoped for, Nikolai chuckled. Blood was still staining his clothing, remaining traces of the anguish he had experienced. “A good question, as usual,” he exclaimed cheerfully as he stepped closer. “Why don’t we make a quiz about it?” In response, the other didn’t pull back, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips.
“Do you even want me to know the answer?” he asked instead, the same knowing glint lying in his eyes. Eye blown wide, Nikolai distanced himself anew, smiling. “You know me so well,” he said lowly as his gloved hands intertwined behind his back. The knife lay on the inside of his coat, but he didn’t possess the courage to reach for it. Instead, he let his emotions consume him again, affection and hatred growing.
He was being understood, and it hurt as much as it felt incredible.
Sweet tunes of death were lingering in his lungs, threatening to burst with the amount of blood and petals stuck inside. It was either him or Fyodor that had to die, he knew. Yet, Nikolai had time. And so he waited, his gaze burning on the back of the other. ‘I will kill him,’ he thought with a small smile as he walked into his bedroom. His back hit the bed with a clang, eye cast toward the ceiling.
‘But let me enjoy it some more.’
<><><><><><><>
Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and Nikolai’s condition grew gradually worse. Sleepless nights were spent on the cold and small floors of the bathroom. As the moon shone on the fragile being, the clown couldn’t help but pity himself. Such pain and agony were hidden beneath the layer of a smile, his little habits sealed away. Yet, Fyodor possessed the key to the box they were locked in. Every time Nikolai greeted the other with joy, he was met with no words of complains but instead a smile and a knowing glance.
Oh, and how awful it was.
“My dear Fedya, do you know what torture you’re putting me through?”
Snow was falling outside, signalizing the start of winter. That coldness led to neither leaving the apartment as Fyodor preferred to work in the cozy apartment. Considering his state, Nikolai didn’t have it in him to protest. And so, the door was locked tight, only the two people present. Before the disturbance of the silence, the atmosphere had been peaceful, the sound of writing barely heard.
“How do you want me to respond to such an accusation?” Fyodor replied with ease, neither denying nor confirming his knowledge. Indeed, he chose his words with care when conserving with people, one word too less or too much causing chaos. Despite Nikolai being his closest friend at that time, he knew of the risks concerning that conversation. Preferably, he intended not to calculate the situation in front of the person he cared for, yet he had no other choice.
Giggling, Nikolai closed in on the distance between them, Fyodor’s back still turned to him. “You know very well what I’m talking about,” he said with a pout, acting offended. “You’re a terrible person, my dear. Even as I suffer, you merely stand by and watch, entirely aware of the circumstances.” A cough erupted from his throat, its sound tearing through the following silence.
Then, without the hesitance he had held prior, he grabbed the knife from his coat forcefully. As if in a hurry, he swung the weapon with a grin visible on his face. But it didn’t hit. It hovered slightly above the other’s head, shaking. No matter how many times Nikolai attempted to lower his hand and end the life of his beloved, nothing happened. His breathing became hectic, red dripping from his lips through the cough.
“You won’t do it. You can’t swing the knife. You can’t swing the knife because you love me.” Those words were spoken with a calmness one wouldn’t usually use in that position. It wasn’t a question or assumption; it was a fact, and they both understood that. Fyodor turned around and got up, the top of his head grazing the weapon. Smiling sadly, he faced the other, pain flowing from his head.
Both were bleeding, albeit for different reasons. Once anew, Nikolai’s eye had widened, his bottom lip trembling. “If you knew, why have you never bothered talking to me?” the man asked after a while, a glint of curiosity visible in his one eye. As he dropped the knife in his hand, his shaking subsided. “Why so, indeed,” Fyodor responded while he gazed into the other’s eye. “Emotion is such an odd thing, is it not?”
There wasn’t much time left for Nikolai, and still, Fyodor added pauses in between his sentences, dragging on the conversation. “Before providing you with an answer, I needed to know it myself. How I feel, that is. The Hanahaki Disease comes from unrequited love, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t you have suffered more if I had told you about how I felt back then? Unsure of this thing called love, I had no such clear answer and have been searching for its definition.”
Stepping close enough to hear the breathing of his friend, Fyodor smiled kindly, the sad spirit gone. “I truly apologize for the suffering I have caused you. Yet, I think to have found an answer now,” he continued, his hand wiping away the blood and petal on the other’s lips. Nikolai’s body appeared cold and hot at the same time, his breathing uneven as his heart was beating rapidly. Red and purple were begging to be let out, throat hurt.
“It’s hard to define that emotion called ‘love,’ but I admit I have grown fond of you. Your presence is pleasant to be around, and I appreciate having you with me.”
Despite Fyodor being a master of talking, he found it rather difficult to speak about such matters and lacked the words. In some way, he felt slightly embarrassed upon sharing his feelings. However, Nikolai’s need to gag stopped. One last cough let the flowers in his lungs wither and die, falling out of his mouth in a shower of petals. For the last time, the white-haired man lay in a pool of red and purple, clothes ruined. A beautiful mess in Fyodor’s eyes.
Laughing bitterly, Nikolai grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him down. Soon, Fyodor’s clothes were stained, too, as he glanced at the man lying beside him. “I am free of this illness now, but I’ll never be fully free with you around, my love,” Nikolai whispered softly, tucking a strand of hair from Fyodor behind his ear. The clown appeared conflicted still, eye traveling around as if unsure. But in the heat of the moment, he had no desire to think about such things and instead embraced the other greedily.
Love bound him down, yet why could he commit to doing such things?
Nikolai didn’t know, emotions overflowing his brain.