Work Text:
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The water flow from the faucet was steady, but - with how engulfed in eerie quitenesss of the night the bathroom was - every drop seemed louder than it should be, startling Nikolai each time without fail. This over-sensitivity to any and all stimuli was enough to raise suspicion. Time slowed down with every second and the finality of the situation came down on him.
Almost every feature of his face was covered in gloomy darkness, domain of only this hour - he didn't bother to turn on the light out of the urgency, but he also had a hunch that it's presence would make everything more real, that there would be no place left for doubt. No being delusional, then.
Besides, light could wake someone up and he would have been discovered.
With that, he slowly slumped into the bathroom tiles out of fatigue, resting his burning forehead on the wall.
Nikolai wasn't sure what caused all of this - after all, he was feeling just fine yesterday. Well - with carrying out a terrorist attack and assasination attempt - not out of ordinary, at least. And just like that, he was reduced to a pathetic state, reminded once more of the human body weaknessess. And that coughing, god - it seemed like it would never end.
He tried to breath, but it felt as if he was drowning in the middle of ocean, every failed try in deep breath resulting in hoarse gurgling, a sound he never knew he was capable of. It got so intense, in the moment of sheer panic, he just sat there, on a bathroom floor, wheezing and coughing.
Enough was enough, he thought to himself. In order to confront the situation accordingly, he needed to see and not to run away. Weakily, he reached for the light switch.
The apartament they rented (requisitioned) was in dilapidated state. In exchange, it was also almost undetectable, a perfect hideout. The downside was, of course, that he wasn't even sure the light would work. It flickered, and the electricity ran through air with loud buzz.
The scene that unfolded before him was nothing less than grotesque. His mind went completely blank, unable to process what he saw.
The blood was everywhere.
It surely wouldn't made such lasting impression, with how his usual leisure activities concluded at, not if it wouldn't be his.
Cheap, dirty sink was flooded to the brim with it and if only someone would stumble across this bathroom unprompted, they wouldn't be insane to believe a grusome crime took a place in here. Crimson liquid spilled, drop by drop, on tiles and Nikolai needed to be extra cautious to not accidently slip and cause a commotion. He didn't need any witnesses to his pitiful state.
He watched his reflection in the mirror for entirely too long before realizing he was staring at himself. Skin much paler than usual, morbid, deprived of any make-up. Without the facade of jester, he was almost unrecognizable, even in his own eyes. The fleeting traces of blood lingered around his lips, like smudged lipstick.
With metallic, almost salty aftertaste in his mouth, urge to throw up was even more prominent. He needed to rinse his mouth immedietly, but a sight he had been met with upon reaching for the tap has left him with yet another shock.
There were tiny, lavender petals bathing in blood pool - soaked in liquid they were gaining scarlet undertone.
It didn't took long for Nikolai to realize what it meant. He had heard about this phenomenon, from Fyodor, of all people - who else. A powerful ability, which nature was similar to the cannibalism ability in a sense that it was, as well, a 'disease'. It created blooming flowers in victim lungs that spread through veins, infecting the whole body. The only cure, the salvation for the targeted, was getting their deepest affection reciprocated - otherwise, they would suffocate or have their body eaten alive by the parasitic plant.
"An illness of unrequited love" that's how Fyodor refered to it, under breath and bare November sky, and as Nikolai stared dumfounded at the slight blush creeping on freezing cheeks with every harsh gust of wind, he couldn't comprehend how someone like that could exist. God incarnated, but at the same time, he never looked more human.
Yes, perhaps that's why he didn't register clearly the information about that ability.
That was weird, though. Why was he the one hit by it? The only thing that came up to mind was that it was a deliberate plot against the Decay of Angels, but he couldn't for the life of his pinpoint the exact - or even approximated - time it had happened. But that wasn't the biggest mystery. As he got caught in another coughing fit, he was left to wonder -
Why had the ability worked on him in the first place?
It shouldn't had, right? If there was no one he had loved, then... Then the flowers should not be able to hatch in his lungs. The abilities never made mistakes, though. Alas, one needed to exist.
He tried to conjure into being that potential person. An image of collected, cool person was drawing itself in his mind - a person who he trusted and was devoted to, yet an equal. Only one met this description and Nikolai swallowed.
A thought of him caused warm, welcoming feeling in Nikolai's stomach, the one he was accustomed to but always meticulously ignored.
The emotion that accompanied that idea was strong, more powerful than any other and it felt as liberating as binding. It didn't take long to identify that feeling - and the diagnosis was not good.
The momenteral shock quickly morfed into terror, as the realization dawned onto him and he began to smile nervously. This was quite the situation without the solution, no?
It was either confessing everything or dying. And, in that moment, lying on cool bathroom floor and breathing heavily, Nikolai was sure that he would prefer to die.
How could he confess, how could Fyodor accept his love, if he hadn't even accepted that love himself?
No, it was absolutely out of the question. They had plans, goals and besides, admitting something against ones will, just because of his body’s condition and emotions that bind the soul.... wouldn't that be the ultimate form of conforming to the cage all people are trapped in eternally?
As Nikolai began to get up, wading with palms in the mess his coughing made on the floor, an idea sprung from the despair of the situation. He wouldn't have to confess, he wouldn't have to die, if only there was no addressee of his feelings, right?
Yes, of course! He stood up so fast in epiphany he almost slipped on his own blood. If only Fyodor were to die, would get killed, then he would be freed from this condition, he would be truly, completely free!
Killing him would certainly be a challenge, but he was up to it. Ignoring the dull, uncomfortable feeling gathering in his heart and conflict raging in mind, he left the bathroom, stumbling back to his room. He had at least a week to think of a way to kill Fyodor, his dearest and only friend.
He didn't have to take action now, he concluded. He could wait.
A faint, warm light poured out of the gap under the door at the end of the hall, but he payed no mind to it.
------------
He had noticed it as soon as he entered the room.
A pair of purple eyes he would recognize anywhere, no matter the time, had observed him attentively, staring deep into his essence. It was not like Fyodor was even trying to hide it too eagerly - to his credit, he did avert his gaze back to his book once Nikolai tried to caught him on it directly. Of course, even if he would try to be a little more stealthy, it would not work on the other - and as he probably was aware of that, he didn't even try.
They could read each other any time of the day.
The gaze was conflicted, clouded by something more sinister. His face that had never been tainted by any emotion was an unreliable source, but his eyes revealed his feelings better than he could articulate them. The mixture of caution, rage and trouble that usually got forcefully buried under apathy were circulating around a soft, pure glimmer, that conveyed concern above anything else and it disappeared faster than it appeared. Nikolai had no clue how to interpret it.
"G'morning, Fedya! Oh, how I missed you, long time no see!"
Saying it was a morning was more than a reach - sun was yet to show itself on the horizon and the darkness of night was broken only by reflected light of moon, sitting at the top of the dome.
With furied brows, said Fedya lowered his eyes and stared at the space inbetween, unpresent. He looked as if he barely had any sleep, pale skin more cadaveric than usual emphasized the bags under his eyes. White ushanka was missing and Nikolai had the irresistible urge to tug his ruffled hair behind his ear.
"Good morning, Kolya, although I do believe we saw each other just yesterday."
"Yes, yes, how observant of you! Since I see you are in top condition today, dear Fedya, it's pop quiz time! Say, what will I do in the next five minutes?"
Fyodor pretended to think for a second, just to humour him, humming.
"You will brew two coffees" he smiled contently "for both of us. You will add milk and sugar to them, just like you always do, and you will return here and sit beside me for the rest of the morning.
How close is my prediction?"
"On point! As always, you never fail to amaze me, dear friend!"
With a cheshire grin and high pink cheeks, he made a little pirouette and jumped back to the kitchen to fullfil the prophecy, demon eyes never leaving him for a second.
The symptoms of hanahaki lessened a bit, so he managed to not spiral into a petal coughing fit near Fyodor, but the scratching in his throat wouldn't go away. It would surely worsen in the future, Nikolai concluded, so he needed to act quickly before his secret would see the light of day.
Using the cloak, he took a small vial from his room. A transparent liquid shined dangerously, sealed from the world as even the smallest drop was lethal. It was said that without the antidote, it took as little as five minutes to kill.
Two cups, with matching colors and prints, stood alone on the counter and the aroma of the coffee engulfed the kitchen entirely. Nikolai poured thick milk and thrown two teaspoons of sugar, and - as if it was the most regular thing to do - added a couple of droplets of the poison to one cup. Proud of his work, he took both of the mugs and returned, with an excited smile.
Upon entering, he placed them on the table with a loud thud, right in front of Fyodor who was once again buried in his book. He was actively avoiding inhaling the fumes from the coffee, Nikolai noted, and - while slowly raising his head from the pages - his expression was yet unreadable and eyes devoid of any traces of recent turmoil. He eyed both of the cups with disinterest.
"....Novichok?"
"Of course not, silly! It's something much less deadly, so I can watch you writhe in pain while you bleed out and beg for an antidote!"
A fragile, blissful smile appeared on Fyodor's lips.
"Wonderful. I presume only one is poisoned?"
"As omniscient as ever! You never dissapoint, Fedya. Whichever cup you will pick, I shall drink the other one.
I will tell you now, although you probably realized, that the poison is both odorless and colorless, so there is no way you can tell in which mug the poison is!
What do you think?"
"Very well. However..." seriousness overcame his voice once more "I have but one requirement. You need to promise me you will not touch either cup until I will finish drinking the one I'll choose. Only then you will be allowed to drink yours."
"But Fedyaaa.... You're not the one to set conditions..."
They stared at each other for a hot moment and it was made clear that Fyodor was not backing down unless an agreement was in place. With each second fleeing, Nikolai's plan was less and less guaranteed to work and he bit his lower lip.
"Ughh, you know what? Whatever makes the game more fun! Go ahead, I’ll give you a headstart~"
Nikolai's giggling filled the room with tension as Fyodor, not taking any time to think, grabbed the mug closer to him and, without a care in the world, took a sip and went back to his book.
Minute passed. Then two. The coffee was gradually dissappearing from the mug and no signs of "being poisoned with extremely lethal toxin" were showing.
Simultaneously, Nikolai’s stress levels skyrocketed. Did Fyodor knew in which mug the poison was? It wouldn't be shocking by any means, taking into the consideration that it was Fyodor he was thinking about, but still... Even Nikolai have not remembered which cup he had spiked.
It was obvious by now - the other one must have been poisoned.
The one that he will need to drink. The one that will kill him.
He lowered his head.
"....You don't have to drink yours if you do not wish to."
Words that were no louder than mere whispers but conveyed more than most powerful screams could only hope for and Nikolai blinked rapidly in response.
"Silly, but then what would be the use for this whole game? I need to keep my word!"
"I said that you would be allowed to drink it, not obligated to."
"Ahh, if you'll remind me of that one more time I'll be inclined to believe you truly care!"
There was no responce to that besides the shameful lowering of his gaze back to the book - it seemed that the conversation was over.
This whole plan was destined for failure from the start. Without full devotion for killing him, without making up his mind for certain, it couldn't succeed. Staring at the remaining mug, at the aftermath of his ordeal, made it abundantly clear.
Because why, he thought to himself, why couldn't he just poison both cups and take an antidote himself? Or even better, why he couldn't just take a gun and, using the Overcoat, shoot Fyodor from behind, killing him in just seconds?
He felt the need to create games where Fyodor's death was not a certainty, where there was always a chance, a possibility in which he could emerge victorious. Where his death was depended on luck completely - a way to shift the guilt, so that the higher forces could take accountibility.
Staring at the cup made it clear. He was not able to kill Fyodor.
As a consequence, he will die. That was certain. In a week's time, the flowers will steal the last remnants of his breath and there was absolutely no way to avoid that destiny.
He could very much as well speed up that process himself.
While thinking that he grabbed the mug and before he could change his mind, he took a succulent sip of coffee and stood in one place, awaiting the first symptoms of poisoning.
.
.
.
He didn't know how long he had waited. It seemed as if everything slowed down and the amount of time that had passed could very well vary between couple of seconds and half an hour.
He didn't wish to die.
"Are you planning to stand there forever?"
An impatient, yet unwavering, voice pulled him out of the trance and with trembling fingers Nikolai slowly sinked into the chair. Catching a sight of the clock hanging on the wall, he was shocked to find out that 7 minutes had passed.
If he truly did drink the poison, he would be long dead right now. Or at the very least, in the process.
"...What did you do, Fedya?"
"Whatever could you mean?"
"I should be dead by now. I surely poured the poison to one of these cups and yet - none of us are dead. How come?"
Fyodor observed him deeply with complete and utter lack of any sentiment, reprimending him spiritually.
"Perhaps you had mistaken a vial of something else for poison."
"...Ah. Yes, perhaps I really did."
He absolutely did not and he was sure of it, but there was no use in arguing about it since it was his plot to begin with.
Nikolai sat still, not moving an inch, watching Fyodor furtively who no longer payed him any mind.
The man before him dared to call himself inhuman - but to Nikolai, he was the most human of all. It was crystal clear right now. For everyone else he might be a demon, a god even, but he always had seen him the way he was, without any filter - an ambitious human, perfect in his imperfection.
A thought occured to him, one that made him smile in demise, oddly comforting. It was never that illness that imprisoned him the most. An emotion, stronger than any ability, that would have killed him even if the flowers were to suddenly wither. An emotion more binding than any curse could ever hope to be. If he were to kill him, he would be free from so much more than mere ability. And yet....
A bird, stuck in the cage that it was painfully aware of - and even if it were to open, it would never fly away.
He had stayed until the end of the morning - just as Fyodor foretold.
------------
In spite to what he thought to himself that feral 'morning', he tried to kill Fyodor once again the next day. And the day after that. Different schemes were set in motion, like making traps with water and electricity that his target rigorously avoided or throwing heavy objects at him using Overcoat - that he also somehow dodged.
Common denominator to all of them was that there was always a backdoor and that Fyodor have always found it - with or without Nikolai's help.
All the plotting and scheming reached it's climax one night, shadow casted on the walls of Fyodor’s bedroom belonging to a knife, dangerously close to his throat and a trembling hand in charge. He stood there, unsure what to do - one efficient cut, a lot of blood in process, and this whole situation would get resolved. Certain death. He would be free in every meaning of this word.
Despite of that, metal clattered on the bedside table with failure as Nikolai left the room and closed the door behind him.
He decided to give up on trying for the time being.
It felt as if with each day the symptoms grew gradually worse. Moving caused significant pain, with how flowers began to spread to other organs, and Nikolai could hardly focus on anything, as his head was pulsing with pain. However, he carried on all of his tasks as usual. His role as a piece was first, then his humanity - second. Even in his deathbed, he couldn't bear the prospect of dissappointement.
He spent a lot of time relishing in the thought of how cruel and unjust this whole situation was. If an outcome is inevitable, that is all that is there left to do - trying to make amends and somehow twist the narrative in your head, so that it pains less when it all crumbles down.
He desperetly tried not to think about how in just weeks time he will never see the same violet eyes that he could recognize anywhere - how he will never be with the sole person on this earth that could understand him.
Of course, he analysed every potential solution millions of times in his head, as any person sentanced to death would. Confessing was out of the question for at least 8 different reasons, but the most prominent one was that he would get rejected anyway - his unlovability was not only tangible, but also obvious to anyone who would take a second to look closer into his sinner soul and while he usually accepted that fact with open arms, now it caused him to rapidly blink tears away.
The idea of killing the ability user who targeted him sprung only about a day or two into the sickness, but quickly got abandoned. If he wanted to track him down, he needed to talk to Fyodor - perhaps the only person to know their whereabouts.
But as he was lying the third night in a row in the pool of his own blood and lavender petals, eyes shining with insanity and pain, a certain person evinced themself in his dreams. One other person that could perhaps know about the location of that ability user, or at the very least - anything about them at all. He would be grateful for any information.
Lavender... Information....
Nikolai growled and slowly rose from his lying position. It seemed like he would be making a visit to the Sky Casino.
It was open around the clock, so he could go even now - and he did. There was no time to lose.
As he left their home, he had noticed that Fyodor was absent. His room was empty and there were no traces of him in any other part of the apartament. It was highly unusual - he almost never left their house and in rare occasions he did he either informed Nikolai about it or made him tag along.
Well, he could ask about that later.
Thanks to his ability, the trip to the Casino was extremely quick. Sure, his Cloak had the range of only 30 meters, so he needed to make several stops, but comparing it to normal way of getting there - by plane - it was nothing. After half an hour he was already inside.
Even at this hour, almost 4 in the morning, the main hall was packed with rich people, guests running from one game to other, drinking expensive champagne. Oblivious to the real nature of the place they were in - it was amusing to look at.
Somehow, Nikolai did not attract any attention. You would think that walking in the clown attire, with long pretentious cape flowing behind you and squeaky boots with tiny bells, would cause at least several people to turn their heads, but no. It seemed like everyone was too busy with the bets, cards and poker coins.
Scanning the area, he could not find Sigma anywhere. It only occured to him after a while that Sigma was the most normal person he had knew - and the only person he had knew that actually had decent biological clock and normal sleeping hours. He was most likely long asleep by now.
Nikolai giggled at the mental image of that and in a whim decided that disturbing and bothering him would be the most entertaining thing he could do today. And so he had teleported to the room he had remembered being the manager's office.
He found himself in the most boring, bland and empty room in existence. There was only one desk with nothing on it, one chair standing next to it and a bed, currently occupied by none other than Sigma. He had been sleeping peacefully, snoring with a nightcap resting on his head.
Nikolai could not wait any longer to disrupt that peace.
"Rise and shine~! It's time for work, crime never sleeps, Sigma!"
"Wha---!"
The speed at which he accelerated out of the bed in terror was admirable.
"Ah, you look so ordinary even while waking up, you're even wearing that weird hat! That's so normal of you!"
Sigma quickly took of the nightcap.
"That's not important! What are you doing here, Nikolai? You should have been--"
He stopped in the middle of the sentance, distraught by something.
"Hmmm? I should have been whaat? You can tell me, I don't bite."
"Somehow, I highly doubt it."
Laughter rang through the room, but Sigma stood stifly, extremely anxious. With time he somehow got accustomated to working with Nikolai, but nonetheless, that kind of unannounced interaction....
"You barge into my Casino unprompted" it was clear that Sigma was starting to lose his temper with each second "and you wake me up in the middle of the night. I'm sure you have a reason to - go ahead and tell me now so we can get this over with.
Does it have anything to do with our plan?"
Hearing the serious tone, he decided to drop the facade. It would most certaintly be amusing to annoy Sigma, but he really had came here with a purpose and he could already feel the scratching in the back of his throat. He ought to make haste.
"Being so nervous all the time is bad for your heart, you know....I need informations about a certain ability user. His whereabouts, name. I want you to either tell me or use your special ability."
"Why do you ask me? Go to Fyodor. Information is his forte."
"I can't. This situation does not concern him and I do not wish to bother him. I'm asking you."
"...There's a hidden reason why you won't talk with him, I assume?"
Nikolai just stared at him, mute. Sigma sighed loudly.
"....I don't know if I will be able to help you. What kind of ability user, anyway?"
"The one with the power to curse one with flowers growing in their lungs. The affected needs to get their feelings reciprocated in fixed time, otherwise they'll die. An ability of unrequited love. Hanahaki, have you heard about it?"
There was a loud silence for a moment. Sigma didn't respond to that, dumbfounded and surprise dictated gaze.
But in a moment, it seemed that something clicked. He furried his brows and pinched his nose in annoyance, while observing Nikolai in focus, trying to read something from his expression.
"..Oh. Of course. Ugh..."
A slight switch in atmosphere, barely registered by Nikolai, who was left to wonder about such a obscure, disgusted reaction.
Conflict raged in Sigma's head, unable to decide what action they should take. On one hand, they would rather not have any contact with Nikolai whatsover - on the other, the faster they would help him, the faster he would leave them alone. Besides....
They huffed in resignation.
And with that, they wore a determined expression, one they solemnly hid from everyone and that only surfaced during desperate times. Suddenly, Nikolai felt a hesitant yet firm grip on his wrist and his vision got blurred by azure glow.
It was a feeling unlike any other - close to an electric shock that went though his veins and he found himself unable to move for a split second. It was as if his mind was recalling every thought, every moment was brought back into being, all of that all at once. The pages of his mind were being turned, dusted of, and he had a vague idea that someone who was searching for a specific information found what they were looking for.
A distant memory of fond smile, soft eyes drowning in twilight that looked at him with such devotion he could never deserve.
Only when Sigma stumbled backwards, equally horrified as unnerved, he had realized what had happened.
They used their ability on him.
"You should have the answer you were looking for in your head in some time. Give your mind some time to get used to the surge of new information and to analyze it subconsiously. And go away, I'm going to sleep! You should too, you know! In your condition....."
Nikolai blinked and pretended he didn't hear that last part.
"Oooh, Sigmaaa, how can I repay you for your kindness and simplicity?"
"You can - go and jump from the Casino! Just stop bothering me!"
"Will do!~But just so you know, if someone will complain about my massacred body lying somewhere, I will be sure to inform them it's your fault! Not great advertisement for your Casino..."
He heard a loud, annoyed groan behind him as he left the room hopping with glee.
When he came back into his apartament there was still no Fyodor in sight. Perhaps it was for the better for now, Nikolai thought to himself as he fell into the couch. Perhaps if he would just slip on some icey pavement and got a head concussion - the whole problem would resolve itself.
With his physical condition, it wasn't even that unrealistic.
He tried to make himself comfortable. He had used Sigma's ability before - the first time he passed out and the second he was so dizzy he bumped into a wall. Regular side effects of a mind tampering ability. It was better to lay down.
Staring at the ceiling for close to twenty minutes as all of the informations revealed themselves gradually from the mist of the daze, he tried to make a sense out of them - but his blood run cold.
The special ability user he had been searching for was a member of a dangerous, underground organization working strictly in western Europe. His ability, Hanahaki, could be used from long distances, without any direct contact with the victim, as long as they knew the target.
Nikolai was right about one thing - him being a target was part of a plan against Decay of Angels, working as a revenge for several terrorist attacks in the past couple of months on the premises of Europe. It was unspecified whether they chosed him specifically or he just happened to be at the right place and right time, but he figured it must have been the latter.
(A fleeting thought run through his brain - just how Sigma managed to acquire this much of classified information?)
Current whereabouts of that user were unknown, both to DOA and the governement. The only thing that everyone was sure of was that they were on another continent.
Tracking them down was close to impossible, especially on the timetable Nikolai was. That, and the fact that he would have to work alone. Perhaps if he could ask Fyodor for help, perhaps then they could both find them.
But now - it was all futile.
It was a game over, then. A feeling of despair overcame him - there was nothing he could do anymore. He exhausted all of his options. He would die. He would die and he would never see----
He saw black. A deplorable state, in which he stared at one point without the ability to move, was followed by coughing so intense he was sure it was over. A paralyzing pain, glowing white, somewhere in his chest and he thought he would break his nails by digging them into his palms.
Even in that state, he tried not to make a huge mess - to no avail. It was hard to tell the colour of the carpet - now covered in blood from coughing and petals. He wanted to apologize - to who, he did not know.
Didn't even noticing that he was curled up on the floor, he passed out. Whether it was from pain, from intense panic or just a defense mechanism his subconciousness applied to shield him from the calamity of his situation – he did not know. The faint feeling of relief shined somewhere deep in his mind that reminded him it was better to be unconcious during the storm that was about to come.
------------
What Nikolai couldn't have known, or rather have heard, being long passed out, was the sound of keys rattling inside the lock and a soft thud of someones shoes being tossed aside. His name being called out from afar, muffled but worried and hurried nonetheless. Someones footsteps running from room to room in search for something, but stopping abruptly on sight of the living room, in terror.
Regardless of blood staining his cape and white clothing, that someone had sat on the floor. The loudest sigh of relief was let out upon gently touching Nikolai's neck and feeling the weakest pulse under finger tips.
------------
A couple of things were strange when Nikolai awoke. First, he was almost positive that he passed out in the living room - despite of that, the sensation and comfort of his duvet and bed welcomed him upon awakening. He figured it must have been a rough night if he couldn't remember how he made it into his room.
Second, when he crawled into the room he had rested in the previous night, it was all clean. No traces of blood nor petals on the floor. He rubbed his eyes, but nothing had changed. Was it all just a mirage, last night?
Third thing was that it was midnight again. He had slept the entire day.
Nikolai figured he should check whether Fyodor had came back already and was surprised when he saw him slouched over his desk, frantically typing on his keyboard, writing a report.
His room was, as per usual, absorbed in darkness. All windows were obscured and the only source of light were screens of computers, flashing monotonously.
"Feeeedyaaa" he started whining like a needy child, but Fyodor did not react nor did he stopped in his tracks "where have you been, I searched for you everywhere, I was worried!"
"Some of us have work to do, Kolya" he spun his chair to face Nikolai. His face screamed fatigue, eyes barely focused, but he somehow still had the energy to curve his lips in an honest, teasing smile. "Not like you would know."
"Your words wound me! I'm your most loyal and hardworking employee! If there would be an employee of the month reward, I would get it every time."
"You are not my employee to begin with, Kolya."
"Hehehe, of course, of course! I'm your dearest and most intimate friend!"
"That, you most certaintly are."
A smile so genuine and warm appeared on Fyodor's face, even Nikolai forgot to laugh and just stared with dumb expression, unable to open his mouth for the longest time.
The silence that followed was not awkward by any means, but it was obvious that Fyodor grew impatient with something.
Nikolai only regained his senses when he, getting up from the chair, soundlessly came up to him and caught his wrist. He almost never was the one to initiate the contact and his fingers were abnormally cold.
"I need the break from looking at the screen. Would you care to join me?"
Nikolai was ready to reject him, with how in chronic pain and tired he was, but then remembered that it might as well be the last chance for being together. He clenched his teeth.
"Sure, sure, of course! Whatever could you have in mind, I wonder?"
He had not received response to that, instead they had walked out of the apartament, Fyodor's hand never leaving his side.
Nikolai had no clue where they were going, but he found out he didn't really care. His hair, unbraided, flew softly on wind, along with his Overcoat - it was chilly night, like many nights in November.
They had found themselves on their apartament building rooftop, still covered in remains of snow that laid discarded. The view was nice - nothing like St.Petersburg, but still decent. The lack of many city lights made the sky more starry and he caught Fyodor staring at them.
He wore his ushanka again and the stars reflected, danced, in his purple irises. Nikolai imprinted that image in his mind for eternity in hell he was about to serve.
He was never more pretty.
"Do you like stars, Fedya?"
"No more than an ordinary person. I prefer the moon."
"Moon? What an interesting fellow you are! Why's that?"
Fyodor turned to him, pale face brightened by a reflected light.
"Stars are distant, dead and do not matter on a higher scale, meanwhile the moon is always by people's side, it's impact is undeniable and it illuminates the darkest nights. I think it's presence is essential, even if it believes it's merely a rock."
Nikolai was about to throw a joke at that ("how can moon believe in anything, silly!") , but it seemed that Fyodor had something more to say, as he took a small yet significant breath.
"Nikolai, do you trust me?"
"Ehh? Where does that came from? Of course I do! You are my friend!"
Fyodor lowered his head so that his face was not visible.
"...Then why do you prefer to die instead of asking for my help?"
The silence was never this loud.
Every snowflake falling from the sky could be clearly heard and the wind never stopped howling. Fyodor looked the same as ever, unbothered and eyes expressing absolutely nothing, souless and hollow.
There were no thoughts inside Nikolai's head, everything came into halt. He wanted to answer, somehow, but no words could quite fit.
"....Hmm? What are you---"
"In my opinion, it's quite too late to play dumb, wouldn't you agree? Could you seriously convince yourself I wouldn't notice your condition?"
.
.
.
"...Of course not, Fedya. I simply believed you wouldn't care enough to point it out."
Some undefined emotion flashed through Fyodor's face. It was a rare sight, seeing him lost for words. Snow petals sat on his shoulders and ushanka, making him visibly shiver from cold.
An answer lingered on his lips, but Nikolai beat him to it.
"Are you dissappointed in me, Fedya? My death will hinder your plans a bit - abilities similar to mine are hard to find."
"Do not speak of your death as if it is inevitable and unsignificant."
For such relevant moment and big words, his face didn't reflect it one bit. Staring at Nikolai with a stoic mask, it was nearly impossible to deduce what really went through his brain. Even his eyes, absorbed in inner conflict somewhere far away, felt distant for the first time in years.
Snowing intensified, having no plans to stop anytime soon, and Nikolai felt cold run down his spine.
"Death is the only thing that will grant me true freedom, thus it is necessary."
"Deceased have no use in freedom, Kolya."
Nikolai was about to start laughing, more out of resignation than anything else, but it morfed into coughing and he had to kneel down in pain. Fyodor followed him, practically falling, to be on the same eye level.
For a long time no one had said anything, for Nikolai struggled to breath between coughs and the other watched, eager to ease pain but unable to do anything. Ruthless snow kept on falling around them and with each minute the cold was becoming more unbearable.
"You ought to confess, Kolya. You cannot die."
"But... it wouldn't matter - it would only hasten my death."
"Why are you so convinced you would get rejected?"
Upon looking up, he found Fyodor staring feverishly into his soul, a flicker of panic mixed with hope danced in the depths of his eyes. First time in his life Nikolai had recognized hints of fear in his features - simultanously, it was the first time Fyodor had visibly started to lose a grip on the control of the situation.
It was a terryfing sign, indeed.
"Silly Fedya... you are the only one who can see my soul, extract the essence of my very being, and you purposefully ignore the sin that taints it? If you say that every human is sinful, then...Then how could you love the most sinful of them all?"
No other word could be heard as they drowned in intense coughing. Nikolai felt the distinct, but fleeting, metallic taste at his lips and a trace of blood fleeing from his nose as his arms gave in and he collapsed on a pure white snow in defeat. His body was never this weak before.
He could hear Fyodor yelling his name as he jumped to catch Nikolai before his body would succumb deeper into snow. There were words said, meaningful and vibrant words, but he couldn't make out any of them and all he could focus on was the unforgiving cold surrounding him and a forgiving hand, strangely warm in comparison, resting on his forehead, desperatly yet vainly trying to keep him awake.
Vivid sight burned into his memory - a sight of fresh, bright red blood staining the pristine whiteness of snow, contrasting. He wished to see his dearest friend eyes ones more - saturated violet eyes which now displayed uncommon gamma of emotions - he wished to intertwine their gaze before he would never get a chance to do so anymore.
Thinking that, while the voice speaking to him got louder and grew more agitated, he closed his eyes unwittingly, from fatigue - unable to look for the last time at the one person he yearned for the most, a cause of it all.
------------
The first thing that came into his mind, still engulfed in morning mist and stupor, was the unyielding, overwhelming feeling of safety. The snow no longer creaked under his body and unforgiving coldness melted off his skin, now radiating with warmth, dyeing his knuckles with healthy, rose undertone.
For the longest time, he couldn't comprehend what had happened. He was supposed to be dead - he felt the repear's breath on his back and his soul leaving his body. A more than a week had passed since he first started coughing up flowers - no one had ever lived this far while being infected by that ability.
He recalled the most recent events from his memory.
He remembered Fyodor eyes widening in realization and horror as he fallen down. He had heard him scream his name as he sprung to his side to aid him. Fyodor didn't let his head rest in snow and held it so tenderly, on his lap, desperatly trying to figure out a way how to save him. He had never saw him so disstressed.
The feeling Nikolai registered now was faintly similar - almost like a déjà vu, as he found himself laying on something soft, plush, and felt a slender fingers caress through his unbraided hair.
Upon opening eyes and blinking sleep away, he discovered it was not his room that he laid in bed in. The sheets where all discarded, barely covering him, and a hand embedded in his hair stopped scratching his scalp, receiving a dismal groan as a result.
"Kolya? Oh, you are awake. Thank God, you scared me there a little. I haven't realized that the illness progressed that far. I apologize."
His voice was a bit hoarse, rugged by hours of no sleep, but content nonetheless. Nikolai looked at his face and into his eyes, relief radiating and almost palpable. His ushanka and cape were tossed aside.
It seemed that hiding anything from him was futile in the end.
"...Oh, Fedya...." a long sigh accompanied by honest smile
"How long have you known?"
"Since the night you first started coughing up flowers. Seriously, Kolya... I wasn't asleep by that time, but even if I would have been, your coughing would have woken me up anyway.
Besides, I'm not quite sure you remember, but you haven't exactly cleaned the blood."
Nikolai gasped, scandalously.
"Well, I wasn't in a condition to!"
"That was not an accusation by any means."
The hand went back into petting and he hummed from delight. They had fallen into comfortable silence for a while, but one thing that Nikolai despised was quiteness and his curiosity grew exponentially.
"So, I assume that poison really was your doing?"
"Of course. I predicted you would try to kill me, as you already tried it in the past, but was never really... quite committed to it. So in advance, I took the antidote."
"But what about my cup?"
"It was never poisoned. Mine was. Ah, but to be clear, I didn't know which one was lethal - it was by a God's miracle that I had chosen the right one. That's why I made you promise to drink yours only after I drank mine - to act accordingly. The poison has a characteristic taste to it, so the moment I took the sip of it I knew it was the correct one."
"My, my, it's quite rare to see you leave so much to uncertainty! What would you do if you picked the other one?"
"I wouldn't have let you drink yours, naturally."
"Oh my! But that would be breaching of the game rules!"
"Would it be? Well, that's a shame."
Honesty and openness rendered the conversation pleasant as they both giggled. Nikolai noticed he no longer felt any uncomfortable tingle at the back of his throat and he slowly rose from his Fyodor lap, positioning himself in front of him to have a clear view. They both sat at the mattress, their weight making impression on the sheets, and Fyodor looked at him encouragingly.
"...I thought you had learned about my state from Sigma."
"Sigma? Ah, that's correct. I didn't saw you that day and later I have told you it was because of work. I wasn't lying. I was trying to find the ability user that had targeted you. It won't be an exaggeration if I were to say I used up all the connections I have to track them down, only to run into a wall that was - they had already fled to Europe"
saying that, Fyodor snuggled a little closer. His skin looked a little more roseate, healthy, and his eyes looked a little less swollen.
"Figuring that you would turn to Sigma eventually, I entrusted the information I had found with them and alerted them of your visit. I received a complaint, though - it seems like you 'barged into their Casino before sunrise'..?"
"Ehehe! I guess I did that...."
"You must have made quite an impression - they threatened to 'never help in any of our affairs ever again' and to 'resolve our problems with each other like adults next time'."
"'Quite an impression' is a given in my case...Wait! But Sigma used their ability on me."
"He did. What of it?"
"Well - it's a two way information stream! He gave me details about that ability user - but what did he took from me?'"
Fyodor tilted his head at that, perplexed.
"What an interesting question. I asked Sigma about it myself, but I received no answer to that. Well, in hindsight....
It seems like they wanted to save you an embarassment. Or simply they haven't wished to meddle anymore."
He revealed nothing more - from what embarassment in his opinion they wanted to save Nikolai nor in what Sigma didn't want to meddle. But it was clear. Something still lingered in the air - something in the shape of tension, a topic they have yet to discuss, but no one knew how to raise it.
Fyodor sighned loudly, although his face betrayed nothing, neutral as ever.
"Kolya, I want to apologize."
"You have nothing to apologize for!"
"No, I do. I'm sorry that I had made you believe that your feelings weren't reciprocated, which resulted in this situation."
With held breath and wide eyes, Nikolai wanted to interrupt but the other continued.
"I'm sorry that the ability was able to target you in the first place."
"You are no god, Fedya - you can't predict everything" cupping his cheeks in tender gesture, he felt them becoming warmer under his touch
"I'm sorry I haven't trusted you and confessed everything, threatening our plan."
"I never gave you any reason to trust me with this kind of information. Besides, it was never about the plan, Kolya. Wait..."
.
.
.
"Could it be that you still believe it?"
Reassuring touch brushed over his palms that were still resting on Fyodor's face, while Nikolai gaze wandered everywhere else, riddled with shame.
"Even when flowers withered and you are no longer affected by that ability, you still refuse to believe it. Seeing yourself as mere piece just so it's easier for you to deny your, therefore my, feelings, and avoiding the confrontation with the fact that you are, in fact, tethered by them....
Well, I guess it cannot be helped, then."
He let out long exhale and, for a split second, Nikolai was sure the other was about to get up and leave, and so he already reached out in an attempt to stop him.
But as Fyodor finished his sentance, he gave no time for hesitation nor for second thoughts as he leaned in and placed chaste kiss on Nikolai's lips, succesfully cutting of his thoughts running rampant.
That moment lasted only a couple of seconds, but it communicated much more than they were able to do verbally, and any doubts that were still present just minutes ago got dispersed. Unintentionally, his hold on Fyodor cheeks tightened ever so slightly.
Before Nikolai had a chance to return it though, Fyodor was already backing away, but a fleeting sensation of the weight of his chapped lips stayed for much longer.
"You believe that all of your emotions are limiting you, as they are a direct consequence of having an organic body that you have no control over, therefore - an antithesis to your idea of freedom. You wish to prove to yourself that you are above, that you are more."
Although he closed his eyes, smiling fondly, it seemed as he never was staring more intensely into Nikolai's soul, dissecting it bit by bit.
"But you are wrong. That love you are feeling is not bounded to any hormones nor brain, or as you prefer to call it - an organic prison. That love sprung from mutual trust, connection, memories and past - it was always your choice to cherish it and work on it, not dictated by anything else. It is above, it is more.
Absurdity of your love is what gives away its intentionality and I can't see how an emotion could get more pure and free than that."
No word could be uttered from Nikolai's mouth as he stared at the man in front of him in awe. If there was a person who could understood him in his entirety, it could only ever be him - and it was never more obvious than now.
Something just made sense after hearing his words, clicked, a haze in his mind dispersed and there was a clear answer on horizon. He wasn't sure what it was just yet, deciding to give himself some time to manoeuvre the unknown terrain by himself. But he trusted Fyodor and wanted to believe him - if he couldn't do that, he thought, then who else could he trust?
He really, really wanted to believe.
But some kind of answer was needed now, an acknowledgment, but Nikolai already had a plan for that.
And so, with gratitude, he nuzzled closer - practically crawling onto Fyodor's lap - and kissed him on every spot he could lay his eyes on.
On the cheek, neck, forehead, ear. His skin was radiating with warmth, so unusual for him, and Nikolai couldn't decide where to show his devotion on next, wanting to leave a trace everywhere all at once. It seemed as the gesture was more than welcomed, as Fyodor placed his hands on the others thighs rather sheepishly, keeping him in place.
Nikolai hands wentured feverishly, trying to get ever closer, as he locked them in dark hair, tugging on them a little. That made him receive an unexpected whimper - and so he did it again, beaming with delight.
"Ohhhh Fedyaaa...How should I repay for such kind, sincere words? As your angel, I'm at liberty to personally grant you any wish! Anything you want!"
"Hm, really? Then I wish to never see you covered in blood that is yours."
Looking at Fyodor from above, solemnity carved in his features, Nikolai was sure he was honest. He was ready to promise, to promise anything this man would ever want in feverish babble, but looking around the room and being reminded of their roles, being reminded of just recent nights, he simply smiled, bringing his face only breaths away.
"You see, Fedya, with our plan set in motion, I'm not sure if I'm able to guarantee that."
Somehow, that didn't cause any disillusionment on Fyodor face. On contrary, he looked as if he heard exactly what he thought he would, smirking. Nikolai knew this smirk - usually, with their foes on receiving end, it came out malicious, but now - his crimson eyes betraying him - it was more teasing than anything else and Nikolai couldn't focus.
"Then, I suppose, another kiss will need to suffice."
"That, I can grant even now."
Morning light, pale and revealing, was creeping in through obscured windows, illuminating their skin and hair that both looked golden just the same, as if adorned with regalia. Under his body, Nikolai had found that Fyodor hazed eyes gained lavender undertone.
He deemed it for a remnant, a reminiscence, but of what? He no longer could recall.