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At some point it became a ritual; Fyodor is just not sure when. Probably sometime in seventh grade, somewhere between when he decided that maybe just one friend wouldn’t hurt, and Nikolai’s arrival halfway through the school year.
Nikolai saw him one morning on his way to school and decided to show him a shortcut he found through a path in the forest behind the school; how he found it just one week after moving is still a mystery to Fyodor.
Fyodor thought the white haired boy would end up getting tired of monosyllabic answers and monotonous looks. That was three years ago.
The school year has been fine so far; snow has already started to dress up the trees in a white gown and Fyodor can see his own breath. The sun is already setting even though they’re still on their way home from school.
Fyodor hopes they get home before it gets dark, last time he lost Nikolai he wandered even deeper into the forest and his friend had to come back to retrieve him. He doesn’t want to repeat that experience, thank you.
Even if Fyodor would never admit it, Nikolai is a good friend. He really is: he would help Fyodor carry his backpack when he was too tired, always keep candies in his pockets and share them with the brunette whenever he felt dizzie and so on. And it’s not like he was the only one he was nice to, after all there was a reason why he was loved by both students and teachers; his charismatic smile and sweet, soft words would always be able to charm even the rudest boy and strictest teacher. The way he did it so effortlessly made Fyodor’s skin crawl; he had always been good at guessing people’s intentions, but Nikolai’s eyes were like mirrors: reflecting people’s expectatives while hiding his own.
Fyodor is relieved that his friend took him seriously enough to never try his trick on him; he can still remember his ‘character break’ after being confessed to during one break. She was older than them, probably a senior. She was tall and thin; she used push-up to try to look less flat chested, and it did the job quite well despite the obviousness of her trick, she was overall cute, with her white skin and long hair framing her face full of light freckles, so he wasn’t surprised when Nikolai smiled at her kindly and suggested they should go to the movies together that weekend. Fyodor was quite amused by the slight blush his friend had, finding it refreshing to see his friend flustered by something so mundane like a pretty girl inviting him out. He stepped back a little as they exchanged phone numbers, not wanting to ruin the moment, even if the now ecstatic girl probably didn’t even acknowledge his presence. When his friend came back, he was ready to tease him with awkward questions, however, the look on his face made all his words die on his tongue before they even took off from his mouth.
“What a fucking bitch.”
Fyodor felt something in his chest, something primitive and uncomfortable; it took a few moments for him to decipher what that feeling was: fear.
Fyodor swallowed, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What?” He asked in hopes it was just a big misunderstanding and that his friend would go back to his usual cheerful self.
“It’s just so disgusting; just seeing her trip with her words from speaking with me made me feel filthy, punished for being in my own skin.” He shook his head, disgust dripping from his expression. “Why would anyone ever want to deny themselves their already limited freedom provided by this piece of meat and bones we call body? Just thinking about it makes me feel nauseous.” Nikolai then turns his head at Fyodor, his eyes piercing right through him, examining him like one would a wall, or a ceiling, looking for possible cracks. “Is that why you didn’t have any friends when I met you? It must have been. You understand me, right? Relationships are nothing but cages, setting boundaries and strict limits. As if someone really cares about all those shitty moral codes! How is one supposed to respect someone who lies to themselves everyday just to maintain an already crumbling facade? Can someone like that even be considered a person anymore?!” He said in a manic tone, borderline screeching. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and unlike the one he had just given that girl, this one is full of teeth; to this day, Fyodor can’t recall him ever feeling the way he did at that moment: a prey to a surplus killing animal, not content with a simple feast, just wanting to enhance the pleasure of the unnecessary execution by making his prey dig it’s own grave while holding a gun to it’s head.
“Of course, Nikolai.” Fyodor could feel a drop of cold sweat rolling down his back underneath his shirt. ‘As if I could ever agree with such a dehumanizing mentality.’
His friend stared at him for a few more moments, Fyodor’s thoughts racing, replaying the moment again and again trying to see if he did something to give himself out. Then Nikolai just bursted out laughing exaggeratedly, before clapping once, as if putting an end to a performance, causing Fyodor to flinch slightly. His friend kept on acting normally, acting like that conversation never happened before, but the slight squeeze he gave to his shoulder was more than enough: ‘I’m watching you.’
Up to that day, Fyodor had always prided himself in silence not only for his ability to guess people's intentions, but to always be able to keep his to himself; needless to say, he never felt that confidence ever again, not after Nikolai was able to see through his facade in a matter of seconds.
That conversation was never brought up again, yet Fyodor would always see hints of that crazed gaze in his friend’s eyes every now and then from that day on; and not knowing whether he would prefer they were real or just his imagination made him sick.
“Oh my, I almost forgot! I have something I need to show you, would you mind straying from our path for a while?” The brunette is taken out of trance by the voice of his classmate.
There was something weird in Nikolai’s eyes, something beyond the characteristic maniatical spark, beyond Fyodor’s understanding, like taking a peak at an endless pit of darkness and seeing a ray of light coming out of it. Gut wrenching in a way Fyodor couldn’t explain, but with a clear message: ‘You’ve been a walking corpse from the moment we met.’
“Not at all, but not for too long, I don’t want to be late home.” Fyodor feels sweat forming on his forehead.
Nikolai’s soft grin grows into the smile he uses when he wants someone to like him; trust him, in this case; to look human, empathic and beautiful. Fyodor had never seen something so hideous. How could someone ever fall for it? “Of course, Fedya.” Liar. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
Nikolai starts walking deeper into the forest, trusting that Fyodor would follow him. And what other choice did he really have? They were exactly halfway through the forest, the anemia would surely take over him before he was able to get somewhere inhabited; and Nikolai would catch him in no time if he strayed from the path and tried to find his way out.
Nikolai starts whistling an upbeat tune as they wander deeper into the forest. The last rays of sunlight illuminating their way, the thin layer of ice cracking softly under them. Fyodor’s throat feels dry but he’s terrified that if he swallows it will be heard in the still silence of the forest.
He’s shaking and it’s not from the cold weather. He can feel his legs are about to give up; apparently he’s not the only one to notice, as he feels Nikolai’s hand wrapping around his elbow, throwing the brunette’s arm around his shoulder. “Oops, careful there!”
A mere parody to all the times his friend had helped him get somewhere when he was too weak to walk by himself.
“Can’t let you faint on me yet now, can I? You’d miss out on all the fun!” A total lunatic.
The sun had already set when they reached the location. Fyodor’s backpack was forgotten along the way, while he was battling against unconsciousness. Nikolai would probably pick it up on his way back, not to give up any clues to where he left the body. Or would he take Fyodor’s corpse with him? Perhaps he’s planning on turning himself in, to show everyone what he’s done? Fyodor trips over a little rock and Nikolai stabilizes him, reaffirming the loose grapple around his waist.
When he could finally sit down, on a tree stump, he looked around. There wasn’t much to be seen, even without the darkness Fyodor is sure there wouldn’t have been anything eye-catching enough for him to unlock his gaze from the busy figure in front of him.
Nikolai was tossing things out of his bag, lining some of them up neatly, stopping for a second to look at him; he had a serious expression yet his eyes betrayed his cool appearance, overflowing in extasis, evoking a child’s excitement about a new toy, but stripped of all innocence, leaving a raw carcass of pure madness. Fyodor’s scarf suddenly feels tight.
“Hey, Fyodor.” Nikolai’s voice sounds eerie in the silence of the forest. “What do you think I am going to do to you?”
Fyodor can feel snow accumulating on the top of his head, and his boots getting more wet as minutes went by; he hadn’t been able to feel his feet nor his hands for a while now.
Just then, the realization of what could happen to him kicked in. He tries to let out a laugh but it ends up sounding as if he had just been punched in the stomach. His vision blurs and his heart pounds against his rib cage as a bird trying to find its way out. He doesn’t want to breathe and let go of the last bit of control he has.
Warm hands hold his and he has to bear with the fact that he cannot suppress the shiver that runs down his spine; he is spiraling down a pit with no way out and there is nothing to hold on to. He is losing himself in such a crucial moment and he can’t help but pity himself, for being such a fool and not walking away when he still could.
“Fyodor,” this monster has the nerve to still put up his sickeningly sweet act while he’s there losing his grip as the minutes go by, “what are you doing, silly? You will faint if you keep doing that. Come on now, deep breath.”
Fyodor should probably listen to him if he even has started to believe in the tenderness dripping from his friend's tone.
So he does as he’s asked. For what feels like ages, they just sit there, Fyodor trying to stabilize his breath and Nikolai just looking at him, not shifting his attention even once. Fyodor can feel his hands again, warmed by the other’s gloves; he’s not sure when he took them off and slided them on his hands, but he’s not complaining as this might be the last bit of comfort he might ever receive.
Nikolai ends up being the one to break the silence again: “Fedya, you know that I’m doing this for both of us right?” The brunette can only look at him, tired. “This is good, I’m saving us both from a life-long suffering! I’m saving you.” He says it with such seriousness, Fyodor can’t help but believe him. He knows there is no point in begging for mercy, so why not lie to himself and make it easier before he goes?
He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Yes, Nikolai. I know.” He is received with expectant eyes, as those of a puppy wanting the love of its owner. “I know, and I am thankful for your sacrifice.” He can’t help but let out a sob at the end of the sentence. Nikolai just holds him, so gently and oh, Fyodor wishes he could receive such treatment in any situation other than this nightmare; although that desire is exactly what got him in this situation to begin with, how ironic.
“It’s alright, I know you have doubts now, but once everything is over you’ll feel so, so good.” He strokes his face, his hand gentle as a feather, while reaching with the other to one of the instruments he prepared earlier.
Everything is so sudden it takes him a few moments to acknowledge what had just happened. One moment he is looking at his dear friend's eyes’ and the next his eyes are locked on the hilt of a pocket knife. The pain isn’t registered, numbness filling his body as he sees crimson leaking and staining the white snow.
Despite already knowing that was bound to happen, he can’t help but feel a sense of betrayal when he looks up and sees Nikolai’s satisfaction fixed on his leaking wound. He feels warm streaks on his cheeks and he can’t find in himself to hide his devastation.
Nikolai ignores his tears, too invested in watching how, drip by drip, his one and only achieves the freedom he so much needs; even if Fyodor doesn’t know yet, even if he never does, Nikolai will still be happy for him. This is something good for both of them, he can’t let Fyodor live his whole life lying to himself; and he surely can’t let himself get lost on his journey of helping others reach the next level of enlightenment.
But he’s still a human, which unfortunately, means there is nothing he can do about irrational attachments like this one but ignore them and hope for them to pass. Ignoring, though, doesn’t mean he can’t get a souvenir, he thinks as he pulls out the knife, twisting it and taking joy in the wet and disgusting sounds the blade, caressing tender flesh, made.
Fyodor tries to hold his wrist in vain, and all he can do is let out a painful noise as he loses his balance and Nikolai has to hold him up. He can hear his heart beating in his ears and the numbness starts to take over his body again just for another strike of pain to take over him.
He looks at the blade covered in red tossed on the snow next to them. Disoriented, he looks down to see the source of his pain.
Had Fyodor had any spare blood left, it would have all gone south, he realizes shamefully. Nikolai’s knuckles were protruding out of his abdomen, his pale skin contrasting with the dark and thick blood that was coming out of it. Fuck, maybe Nikolai is not the only one that’s twisted.
“Wh-what are you… doing?” Fyodor’s voice was nothing but a soft whisper at this point, his vision covered in black spots.
His friend doesn’t bother to respond, as he keeps sticking his fingers inside the wound, now scissoring it, as if looking for something.
Fyodor is not sure of what is real and what is not at that point; was that all just pure madness or was there saness to Nikolai’s logic? Does he agree with that logic? Was that all really for a greater good, as his friend said? Was he going to die for nothing? He is going to no matter what, so why care at that point? If he had to go, he could as well go in his own terms, whatever that means given the situation.
“Hey Kolya…”
When his friend finally seems to acknowledge his presence, he looks into his eyes while at the same time pulling his hand out of the dying boy. Fyodor feels his breath being taken from him with what seemed to be a piece of his… Liver? His whole body convulses a few times as cold air fills the now open space, almost as if it tried to replace whatever he was missing. Nikolai holds him with his free hand while almost cradling his organ with the other; he looked wild, animal-like. His chest rapidly moving as panting escaped from his soft looking lips, vapor framing his face; it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, Fyodor thought in his stupor caused by the blood loss. He could feel himself fade away, his eyelids getting heavier as seconds went by. He felt himself panic, as he realised he might not be able to do the only thing that would make him go in peace.
Fyodor tries to speak again, but his voice betrays him; he tries to reach for Nikolai but his arms don’t feel his anymore. He lets out a dry sob, defeated, looking at his beloved’s eyes trying to make him understand what he wanted.
“Come on, just one last stretch and it’ll all be over.” Nikolai’s voice had never sounded so hoarse before, thinks Fyodor as he lets the baritone embrace him. He sees the other boy take a bite of his organ, letting out a moan because of the flavor, and an obvious bulge on the front of his pants showing his satisfaction.
Just as Fyodor’s vision starts to go black, he feels a soft pressure on his lips and copper filling his mouth; he had never tasted something like that before, and he could almost regret that he would never get the chance to try it again, if it wasn’t for the fact he had already gotten what he most wanted in his life, he thinks as he watches Nikolai pull away and just a string of bloody saliva connecting them.
The last thing Fyodor ever saw was Nikolai’s smile.
The last thing Fyodor ever felt was Nikolai’s kiss.
The last thing Fyodor ever smelled was fresh snow covered in blood.
The last thing Fyodor ever tasted was his own flesh.
The last thing Fyodor ever heard was Nikolai saying: ‘I have set you free, but the price was my own freedom. You have cursed me, Fyodor Dostoyevsky.’
After all, love is the most twisted curse of them all