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He ended up confined within yellowish walls.
'I could escape.' He thought recurrently, when staring down at himself, the white onesie enveloped his body in a way he found... sickening. Not because he hated the way he looked, but rather because he missed the eccentrism of his former attires. The way he could dance across a room, full of cheerfulness. The flit of a coat around him.
'I could leave everything behind.' He found himself thinking when receiving the tray of food. None of it tasted like something anymore, and it was probably due to his thoughts being always focused on other things; remembering the stained bandages against his gloved hands, the cold breeze fluttering his hair as he stared at the disaster, the debris and smoke before him. The longing feeling of a lost friend.
'I could end myself.' He pondered, heterochromatic eyes contemplating the endless space of the Mersault prison. The once desired freedom now seemed like a long forgotten memory, like a pointless purpose.
He was free now, after all.
But he didn't feel complete.
The first night after the incident he dreamed of birds.
He was a white dove soaring across the sky.
He was a seagull flying above the seas.
He was a falcon screeching a hunting call.
Every dream ended with a wounded hand plucking his heart out of his feathered chest.
He didn't sleep well. Not when he was unable to realize what time it was. Not when his thoughts were scattered all around his brain, waiting for him to deal with them.
He didn't feel like facing the truth.
Nonetheless it was inevitable to do so. At some point in his life –before, when he didn't have to cope with this inner turmoil– he would have been delighted with this outcome, knowing that there was nothing bounding him anymore. He was free from the cage. And yet in that moment, with his head dangling off the bed and his gaze lost in somewhere around the room, he felt... conflicted, to say something. He felt conflicted because he didn't know where this ache was coming from, this pang of pain in his heart everytime he remembered the event.
It was so clear, so simple. Yet he didn't want to admit it.
However, he couldn't bring himself to deny the way his life changed the moment he met him. The feeling of understanding he had always longed for, his heart thumping inside his chest as if it was about to burst out and the calmness of being around someone who knew how everything worked inside his mind.
And then, the confusion, bloodlust.
Love in his own twisted way.
He could remember the few conversations they had as if he was back in the scene, back in the very moment they exchanged those words. He recreated memories until exhaustion; falling asleep in a pillow soaked with tears.
"When will the sorrow stop?" Nikolai had asked between broken whispers.
He never got an answer.
It seemed like years before he got to an understanding with himself. An agreement between him and his own mind to allow what other people would call healing.
Nikolai called it a truce.
The fact with his ability it's that he never got to reveal the true extent of it. And most people fell for his clown facade, believing he was only a pawn of the greater powers.
He was far smarter than everyone thought.
So when the time arrived –he could no longer bear the yellow hue of this cage, being a free bird after all– he decided to use that hidden knowledge in advantage.
Many years later, the only thing he would remember about the escape was the white onesie splattered with blood, bodies dispersed around the corridors of Mersault and one maniacal laughter that could only belong to him.
Freedom, on its new terms.
Yokohama was just as he remembered.
The city felt like a blank canvas waiting to be tainted for someone like him, with all that tranquility, peacefulness...
Not anymore, not when he didn't have that purpose.
He wondered if the people would recognize him as he walked around the streets. Strands of long white hair waving with the fresh air, more simple yet still distinguished clothes. He didn't came here looking for something specific, as if would be foolish to do so considering all his past situations in the place. In fact, he didn't quite know why he was here at all.
The nostalgia, probably. The unfair wish to visit the place where everything started.
This is where my life changed.
In that time, looking at the skyscrapers in the horizon, his gaze wandering across the buildings, the people. Hearing the gibberish of their conversations, the distant sounds... Everything seemed far away.
He didn't belong to this place anymore, because the most part of his being stayed behind, locked with the reminiscence of something he'd never have again.
Nikolai decided Yokohama must stay behind as well.
The morning light casted shadows across the kitchen. Birds singing outside along his own humming was the only thing that could be heard as he walked around the cabin. A white overcoat draping from his shoulders –because there was some comfort in that type of security– while he made his way to the stove, the kettle whistling to announce that the water was on spot.
He found the cottage in the middle of the forest. If finding was a synonym for taking it away from some people and perhaps getting rid of them after that. Nothing that mattered that much after all.
He deserved this little amount of calmness so far. Even when sometimes his thoughts went back to the guilt that once plagued his soul.
Feeling guilty was humane. And he had accepted that humanity long ago.
A cat purred against his legs, the white fur grazing along the fabric of his pants as Nikolai leaned down to pet it. When he was still on the city, he had found the animal wandering around an empty alley, he didn't want to live in total isolation so he brought it with him. To wherever he wanted to go.
It didn't have a name, because naming it would imply a sort of fondness he wouldn't allow himself to have those days. Because even if he tried to shut his mind at night there were memories repeating over and over again, that years later, the smell of a burning helicopter would still linger as if everything had happened a mere day before.
Those nights were the ones when he squeezed the cat around his arms, a muffled scream within his throat as he searched frantically for a pulse. It was here, alive, a cat purring between his fingers, his thumb grazing over its throat. He could snap it so easily, he could crush this animal body until there was nothing left but bones and blood. Another lifeless thing between his hands.
He always pushed the cat away. But never enough to let it go.
The town was its own type of flair. But he never paid attention to it, to the people. He was, as many would say, lost in his own world. Only going there when he needed resources, food, anything he couldn't find in the lonely place the forest was.
Sometimes he missed the presence of real people. People he could talk to, people he could annoy with his flamboyant attitude and the many tricks up his sleeve.
But more than anything, he missed his presence.
He sighed, looking at himself in the reflection of a store in front of him. He could almost feel sorry for his own appearance, feeling like a shadow of what he had once been.
Because even being in a truce with himself, he couldn't help but be disappointed.
His mind had been corrupted by blood. Because once he realized what his own hands were capable of doing, it was like going across a highway with no point of return. Through guilt, he killed. He killed until being satisfied, until he could hold a gun without his fingers shaking. Until his soul stopped suffering.
But in that moment...
Maybe he pressed harder than he should, even if it wasn't his true intention. The cat let out a high-pitched screech, fangs digging into the back of his hand for a brief second before the animal ran away. Terrified, a prey fleeing from the predator.
As if he didn't already have enough loneliness.
He jumped after the cat, almost tripping on the bedroom rug; and a moment later he was already walking through the hallways of the cabin at frantic steps, listening to his own breathing as he went from one side to the other.
His gaze focused on an open window after a few minutes, because of course, there were always details that his brain ignored. He walked towards the door, draping the overcoat around his shoulders before stepping outside.
He called the cat in whispers and sad imitations of what should have been a meow, but rather sounded more like poorly made whistles. He exhaled heavily, resigning himself to look for the pet the next day. He was about to turn around and head into the cabin when something in the distance caught his attention. Emerging from the trees, the flutter of a black coat.
His first impulse should have been to try and look for a way to defend himself, because he couldn't risk being vulnerable in the middle of the forest. But instead he froze, because from one second to another he felt like a deer caught in the headlights. No words came out of his mouth when he saw the man approaching him, under the dim light coming from the cabin, the violet tone of his eyes should have been menacing. Because there was still an outstanding promise that the newcomer would not hesitate to execute.
All Nikolai felt was the fiery impulse of shriek in devastation.
He felt hope, even. Although deep down on his heart.
He wanted to scream, scream until his lungs ran out of air and his throat hurt from the effort. Until the only sound his vocal cords could recognize was the raw pain of his uncertainty. He wanted to throw himself on top of the other man and squeeze his hands around his windpipe, to feel the life leaving his body as he once made him believe. To send him back to heaven or hell, wherever he belonged. To make it clear that nothing lasts forever like God or the universe had already made it clear. That good things didn't happen to people like them.
He wanted to shout:
Why did you leave me?
Why didn't you look for me sooner?
Why did you do this?
...
Why?
In the end, all he could hear was a muffled cry that could only belong to himself.
Pathetic, he felt pathetic. Fighting pain and grief and anguish for years only to collapse so easily at what was lost. He didn't realize at first, that the other one was carrying the cat, holding it with one arm like something delicate, when had he been worried about what was important?
"Fyodor..." A murmur, his voice hoarse from not using it as often as he should.
Fyodor, in front of him, alive. An air of bewilderment in his eyes.
He would recognize the man at any moment of his life. How could he forget the person that changed his life to then destroy it with his loss?
There was something squeezing his throat, it hurt as if his whole body had agreed not to let him speak, to leave him silent at the most decisive moment of his life. Seeing the the man in front of him; so close and yet so far, he wondered if his touch would still be deadly, if he would fade away before he could get it all.
'Maybe that's the best outcome', he thought, as he stepped towards him, 'if I can't have this I better not have anything'. He took short steps at the beginning, and without realizing it he had already thrown himself on top of the other man, Fyodor did not move away, but his body tensed as if he had been waiting for something different, a threat perhaps, something else apart from arms wrapping around his waist, squeezing, pulling at the fabric of his coat as if they were afraid to let go. The cat squirmed in the middle of the joint, meowing in protest before jumping down and running towards the cabin.
Fyodor didn't say anything, but instead of walking away –as it would have been predictable– he simply closed his eyes, leaning the weight of his body against his. Nikolai could feel his heartbeat with the closeness, calm and concise, unlike his own, which echoed inside his ears, beating as if he had just run a marathon. As if the dead had been resurrected.
He pressed until his fingers dug into Fyodor's body, he could've let marks if it wasn't for the coat protecting his body. Nikolai wanted to harm until he verified that everything was real, that the reddish and purple tones on the other man's skin attested to the existence of that moment.
Because pain was more certain than anything else.
He decided to hold back, letting the tears drip down until they soaked the other man's hair. He could stay like this forever, even in the cold forest air, the darkness and the moon shining overhead. Ironically, years ago he had also lost him in one night.
'Tell me something', he thought, desperate. 'Let me hear your voice so I know I'm not dreaming.'
As if Fyodor had heard his pleas, he moved one of his arms towards Nikolai's back, moving closer to then speak. "This is not the reaction he expected."
Nikolai hesitated for a moment, and finally chuckled softly. A genuine laugh. It had been a long time since he had heard one, and much less coming from himself.
"What did you expect?" He mumbled under his breath, tears still rolling under his eyes.
"Something different."
"I want to choke you for making me believe you were dead."
"You won't do that." Fyodor looked up, his eyes focusing on Nikolai's.
He didn't say anything for a second, and then he allowed himself to smile slightly. "Not yet."
Fyodor smiled back.
At first he hesitated about letting him go. Because even though the logical part of his brain told him that nothing was going to happen, that Fyodor wasn't going anywhere, the sentimental part of him begged Nikolai to not ever stop touching the other man. To not ever let him go again.
After what felt like hours, he guided him inside.
Fyodor had a prosthetic arm, he realized as he entered the cottage. The coat covered most of his body as it usually had, but for a millisecond his movement allowed him to see the reflection of the light against the prosthesis. Still, he didn't comment on it, he would wait.
Something was throbbing in his chest, the seething need to know everything about the time he had been missing, where had he been? how did he survived?
Why did he returned at that precise moment?
Nikolai stifled all of his questions, biting his tongue to avoid saying anything he shouldn't. But despite all his attempts, he ended up saying. "Do you want to sleep?"
He mentally scolded himself. Nonetheless when he turned to see Fyodor, he nodded, going directly to the bedroom as if he knew the house by heart. Nikolai let out a sigh of relief before following the russian, who, inside his room, had already settled on one side of the bed.
They ended up sleeping together, back to back although without touching. Nikolai was surprised, to say the least; it was a level of trust he never thought he would receive from Fyodor. But the years had passed and the man next to him no longer seemed to be the same as before. Maybe it was the suppressed anger that had changed him, the realization of the weight of his mistakes. 'Would he trust me now?' he thought, looking towards the closed window of the room.
He closed his eyes, deciding to leave his life to the luck.
He woke up with an empty side of the bed and a cat curled up on top of his head.
Normally he wouldn't move it, but he felt like he was suffocating and something akin to anxiety rose in his chest as he noticed the lack of the other presence in the room. He carefully removed the cat from his face, getting out of bed as he tried not to be so frantic about the missing person. He walked out of the room, peeking his head through the hallway only to notice that Fyodor was already in the kitchen, the black coat resting on top of his thin frame. Nikolai couldn't help the feeling of familiarity that the sight brought him and for the first time since he had woken up he was able to breathe normally.
"You're calmer." Fyodor said before Nikolai could elicit a single word.
The comment was somewhat obvious, considering his past attitude. Where years before he would have made a joke, bothered the russian to no end, and even interfered in his activities, now he simply stared at him, not being able to believe the situation.
"Grief changes people." Nikolai smiled faintly. although his tone also contained some redundancy.
There was a moment of silence as Fyodor considered those words, handing a steaming cup of tea to Nikolai at the same time, probably the most thoughtful gesture he had ever shown him.
Don't you realize how valuable you are to me?
Of course he felt like it was something obvious. Fyodor had no allies, only people he could manipulate. And those he couldn't turn to his advantage he eliminated them from his life, one way or another.
"I see." Fyodor said after few minutes of pondering, however he still seemed lost in his thoughts.
They had never needed much words to express what was on their mind. But at that moment Nikolai occupied them more than ever, because if Fyodor was normally reserved, at the moment he seemed like a kind of statue with his gaze lost somewhere around the kitchen.
Nikolai took a sip of the still hot tea, deciding to leave it on the counter to then approach his friend.
"What is that you don't understand?"
Fyodor startled as if he had forgotten where he was, his expression returning to a more neutral one in a matter of seconds. Like a facade. "I don't understand what is that you find attractive about me."
Nikolai wanted to laugh at his naivety, at the fact that his ideas would immediately focus on something as simple and banal as attraction. He moved even closer, taking Fyodor's hands in his as he had done many times before, the man did not move away, but still looked at him with a hint of confusion. Nikolai allowed himself to savor the touch. The gesture feeling strange now, and yet, comforting.
Nikolai shook his head. "You're more important to me than you think you are."
At another time perhaps the russian would have made a sarcastic, even hurtful, comment. But now in front of him, he just looked back at Nikolai's eyes, perhaps he didn't believe him? or maybe in that brain of his there was no room for relationships? Nikolai sighed, squeezing the other man's hands lightly before releasing them.
"I missed you, greatly." He looked to the side. Melancholy spread over his entire expression. "I'm glad you're back." Nikolai said as he walked away. He grabbed the cup from the counter, taking a sip before heading into the living room.
He tried in vain to distract himself from a certain feeling clenching within his chest.
Nikolai had never liked looking at the moon to a great extent since the incident, because it reminded him of the pain he had felt; the grief and sorrow. That night, however, he could feel almost calm as he gazed at it, because even though his emotions were in an internal struggle with himself, there was a kind of peace when staring at the satellite.
He noticed footsteps approaching him, the soft rustle of dry leaves on the ground before one more figure joined him in admiring the moon. After a few moments Nikolai allowed himself to lower his gaze, focusing it on the newcomer. If he noticed how Fyodor tensed at the sight –the memory of his false death probably still in his thoughts– he said nothing about it.
"Why am I important?" Fyodor was the first to break the silence. His violet eyes staring intently at his own heterochromatic ones. His tone was accompanied by doubt, but not necessarily because he believed himself unworthy of his appreciation. If not more because he was genuinely intrigued.
"You changed the way I see the world. The way I see my life." Nikolai responded without thinking twice. He had stopped using the card to cover his eye years ago, and in front of Fyodor's gaze he should have felt vulnerable, exposed, but nevertheless... he felt fine. As if he were in the place where he belonged. "It was the first time I felt understood."
"You tried to kill me."
Nikolai couldn't help but chuckle at the response. "I was confused. It wasn't until I lost you that I realized how much I appreciated you." There was an air of sorrow in his voice, but he felt tranquil even so. Being honest after keeping those words to himself for so many years.
A slight smile appeared on Fyodor's face. The light coming from the moon highlighted his features, making him look almost angelic despite having been worse than a demon. "I thought about how to eliminate you."
Nikolai placed a hand on his own chest, bowing briefly. "I would have been delighted either way." Seconds later, he returned to stare at the moon, and finally dared to ask one of his biggest doubts. "Why did you come looking for me?"
Fyodor didn't answer him immediately. His own gaze wandering around the trees and the forest. The cabin a short distance away.
"I have unfinished business with the world."
Nikolai nodded, although that didn't prevent a knot from forming in his stomach at the prospect of losing his friend again.
"I understand."
Fyodor's eyes lingered on the sight before him, the dark path of nature. He glanced back at the taller man.
"I want you to be a fundamental part of my plan."
Nikolai quickly turned towards the russian. A look of surprise on his face that he didn't even bother to hide.
"Do you... do you want me to help you with your plan?"
This time it was Fyodor's turn to nod, and as if the surprise wasn't enough he took a step towards him, so close that he could feel his breathing.
"I've put my ideas in order." He tilted his head slightly towards him. It seemed like he was doing it on purpose, making him nervous just by being so close. Nikolai was not going to give up so easily.
There were meaningful words exchanged in the past. But Nikolai never dared to reveal the intent of his attitude, because the fear of rejection always lingered on his mind along with the necessity of proving his liberty.
So close yet so far away. He needed to change that.
"Do you trust me, then?"
"I do."
"If so, let me have this." He said as he wrapped one arm around Fyodor's waist, placing his other hand on his chin. He wait for him to push him away, to get far from him; any type of rejection of contact.
Instead, Fyodor moved closer until his nose was touching Nikolai's, who, even in the cold forest air, was starting to feel warm.
"Show me how important I am to you."
Fyodor Dostoevsky, the most distrustful man, yielding to him.
Nikolai grinned as if he had been proposed to a challenge, and then he pressed his lips against Fyodor's. Closing the distance with a kiss that felt desperate, hungry, something he had been waiting for so long. Fyodor's hands held onto his body as if his life depended on it.
He breathed sharply when they had to separate due to lack of air. Staring intently into his friend eyes, he murmured. "Do you think there's a way for people like us to be happy?"
Fyodor's voice was just as breathy, and Nikolai couldn't help but to delight at the sight of the man's flushed cheeks. "Only in our own way."
There was a blooming sensation on his chest, the anticipation for something better. "That's enough."
They joined in the same eager contact. The only witnesses being the moon overhead and the cat on the window sill.
That same night Nikolai clung onto Fyodor's body as if he would never let him go. He had collapsed with tears soaking the sheets of the mattress, crying until he fell asleep –having finally processed the situation– with the other man in his embrace, his frail, languid body between his arms. He wondered how he ever thought of ending him, even though deep down he perfectly understood his ideas at the time.
Yet, with the most significant person in his life by his side; perhaps that was true freedom.