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Nothing had gone well for a while.
Nikolai had been relatively unphased when he was unable to attain freedom from sacrificing himself to frame the Armed Detective Agency, and likewise when he had come to the conclusion that the only way to escape was to kill Fyodor. The prison escape duel was when the hard blows came, and he realised just how long he had gone without freedom.
Nikolai had been ecstatic at Fyodor’s survival, but he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, knowing that his attempt to gain true freedom had once again failed. There was no further sinking when Dazai revealed himself, because he had felt hollow. He knew Dazai must have a plan if he revealed himself like this.
Fyodor looked so wrong, shoulders trembling and covered in blood. Nikolai wondered what he did in those few seconds before the helicopter crashed. He can’t have done nothing, Fyodor was never the type to sit idly by, but whatever it was that he had tried hadn’t worked.
Nikolai hadn’t buried the arm. He left it in the wreckage where he found it. Some part of him had wanted Fyodor to stay together. Another couldn’t bear the thought of coming to terms with his friend’s death. Yet another worried that he would damage it in some way. Fyodor was safer away from him.
One part thought that, being Fyodor, there was some greater plan, and it would be best to leave the arm where Fyodor could collect it along with the rest of his scattered body parts. Nikolai liked that part for giving him hope, reminding him of the Russian’s persistence.
Now, though, an entire week had passed, and there had been no sign of Fyodor. Really, nothing had gone right for quite a long time.
This trend only continued when Nikolai kicked away the stool and his neck didn’t snap. His heart dropped as he let out a choked noise. He couldn’t say how long it took for him to lose consciousness.
The first sense that returned was sound. A soft, sad drizzle and light wind. Next were touch and smell. He lay on his back, something damp tickling his sides and a muddy, woody aroma in the air. Taste brought a slight metallic sensation in the back of his throat. He opened his eyes and saw grey. Finally, his brain caught up with the rest of him and his focus returned.
He stood up and looked around, turning on the spot. He was inside a massive, empty aviary. The enclosure was ornate, but it was made of rusty, twisted black iron, the glass was broken in several places, and the bottom of it was a meadow of countless sad, wilting flowers. In the middle of the field, a weeping willow tree stood out. The desaturated landscape seemed to suck the vibrant colour out of it. Outside the cage, Nikolai could see nothing but grey clouds and darkness from every angle. The dankness came from a mixture of the humid clouds themselves and the rain forming around them, dropping into the meadow. He knew very well that he was dead.
Nikolai had almost finished his slow rotation, taking in his insipid surroundings, when his eyes fell on a figure by the wall. Fyodor stood casually at the edge of the aviary, violet eyes even brighter than usual against the dreary vista. Breeze disturbed his hair, making it flutter vaguely around him. Nikolai couldn’t read the look on Fyodor’s face at all.
Death didn’t seem to have affected Fyodor much. He still maintained his soft features and elegance, magnificent contradictions to that natural intimidation and brutality in his eyes. Nikolai froze, staring at the Russian in wonder.
He had never thought, never dared believe that he might see Fyodor again, especially not so unaffected by all that had happened. Nikolai was sure he looked like garbage. He hadn’t eaten or slept in several days, and lying in the muddy field certainly hadn’t done him any favours.
Fyodor was more divine than ever.
After a few moments of shocked silence, taking in his dear friend, Nikolai’s body lurched into action. He drew a shaky breath, a wide, bright grin stretching across his face. Before he knew it, he had closed the distance between them and enveloped Fyodor into a tight hug.
“Fedya! Fedya, you’re here.”
“Kolya,” Fyodor’s voice was jarringly quiet and dismayed. “You followed.”
Nikolai pulled out of the hug, still holding Fyodor by the shoulders. He nodded, averting his eyes, which glistened in the dim, pale light.
“I couldn’t leave you, not after it was me who caused your death,” Nikolai responds. “Not after you died so cruelly.”
Fyodor’s eyes remained fixed on Nikolai’s, pensive. He parted his lips slowly. “Let’s sit,” he finally said, gesturing to the tree in the centre of the cage. The jester didn’t argue, his grip slipping down to his friend’s hand, taking it in his own and moving to sit under the branches of the willow. It offered little to no protection from the rain, but the friends ducked around the low-handing leaves and settled at the base of the trunk.
It was Nikolai who broke the silence.
“What a lovely place, Fedya,” he said, forcing playfulness into his tone out of habit. “All the flowers are so pretty” -he gestured to the wilted, drowned, blooms around him- “and everything’s so cozy, and here we are, sitting under a willow tree. You always liked willows, didn’t you?”
He looked over his partner. The smile he was wearing felt forced, and Nikolai was sure it looked freakish on his thin, tired face.
“You wish to stay here?” Fyodor asked, not commenting on the jester’s strained grin. “Do you not want to leave? To go out there?” his eyes turned to the damp, cloudy void outside of the decrepit, disused aviary. Nikolai paused, taking in the meaning.
“Can you not?” he asked.
“I do not wish to.”
The jester watched his friend, whose piercing, violet gaze was still fixed on the clouds around them. “I was a fool, thinking you bound me to my emotions,” Nikolai said, his tone uncharacteristically serious, honest. “When you left, everything hurt so much more, and I cared so much less, but I still couldn’t be content because I still cared about you. I didn’t know what to do anymore, but now I’m back with you, and we can leave this birdcage together. We can fly around and be free, in death!”
“You’re not dead, Kolya, you're dying," Fyodor interjected "It makes a difference-” he argued as Nikolai snorted at the seemingly meaningless difference. “It makes a difference,” he repeated, tone returning to its typical level of composure. His eyes returned to Nikolai, blazing, hopeful. “Because this way you can be saved.”
“I don’t want to be saved."
“Death won’t bring you to me.”
Nikolai tensed, his entire body freezing up and his train of thought coming to a halt. The extreme dampness of the air pulled a shiver from him.
“You can never see me again, Kolya. Death will bring you freedom, but you can’t have me back.”
Pattering and sighing weather were the only sound in Nikolai’s ears. Quiet as they were, they sounded like roaring. He hoped Fyodor couldn't distinguish the hot tears streaking down his face from the frigid condensation settling on him. How could it have ultimately ended up like this? Why must fate be so cruel? Nikolai had already chosen freedom once, and it had hurt so, so much. Couldn’t he take it back?
“I don’t want freedom,” he said, his eyes locking back on Fyodor’s. “I want you."
“You can’t have me,” Fyodor stressed, and he glanced away. A second’s hesitation. It made no sense, Fyodor was never so carelessly honest. Nikolai could sense no trick here, but he supposed that didn’t mean much when it came to his friend.
“If I can’t have you by my side, then I’ll take death,” Nikolai told him, jarringly serious. Exceptionally vulnerable. “I don’t care about freedom, not any more, but I don’t think I could take it if I had to find a way to go on without you-”
“Stop.”
The command is almost too quiet to be heard, and the breeze and drizzle seem louder in the proceeding silence. Fyodor turns to face Nikolai fully. He gestures behind him, outside of the cage.
“That’s all that’s out there, you know. Death will grant you freedom, Nikolai, but it won’t grant you contentment. This aviary is rusted and bent, and it lets in the clouds from more than one place. You’ve gained the illusion of freedom in life, but you’re only getting clouds and rain, you can’t fly in this enclosure. You have to leave the cage, and you can’t leave without dying. If you truly want to, and aren’t just following me, then you can leave; I won’t stop you. If you’re willing to try and fix this cage and make it something you will be glad to live in, you have to lock the door. I’ll stay here and watch the place improve.”
Nikolai stared out at the endless stretch of damp grey and thought. Did he want to die? Did he want to live? He tried to kill himself, but that had been in pursuit of his warring ambitions of freedom and Fyodor.
Dying would mean abandoning Fedya. Living would mean… what?
“You’ll stay in the cage and watch it improve?”
“I will.”
Living would only mean abandoning freedom. He had aspired to be free for his entire life, but, seeing the colourless, foggy void before him, he was hesitating. Teetering between the two options. He stood and walked to the door. It was closed but not locked. He placed a hand on one of the twisted bars, still unsure what he would choose. Fyodor still sat under the willow tree, but he was visible through the leaves from where Nikolai stood.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to make the cage nice and pretty for you.”
And with that, he fumbled with the latch behind him, eyes leaving Fyodor for a second to find it and force it down and shut despite the rust. He only had time to glance meaningfully at Fyodor one more time before-
-Nikolai heard a snap. He couldn’t breathe, and he was falling. He landed in a heap on the cool bathroom floor, choking and rubbing the angry red line forming on his neck. His lungs burned and he lay hopelessly on the tiled floor. The rope had snapped.
A fly buzzed around the room. The sink was dirty and the mirror cracked, and his position on the floor was exceptionally uncomfortable.
Tears stung his eyes, threatening to spill over. Nikolai let them. He had nothing, after all; no victory, no freedom, no Fyodor…
He had promised, though. Fedya was still in that cold, uninviting, deserted aviary, and Nikolai wouldn’t rest until he made it better.
First, though, he shut his eyes. He was so, so tired. It wasn’t a great start to a healing process, he thought, crying himself to sleep on the bathroom floor, noose still hanging, half-loosened around his neck, but he would push through. He would go on, all for Fedya.