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It was expected to be busy at the airport.
Everyone was so noisy in this strange country that it was easy to get lost in the crowd. Of course, he had to get rid of the hat as well as of the noticeable black-and-white suit. It had been so successfully replaced by a black sweater and black skinny pants, and the ‘shinel’ now looked like a simple dark coat, matching the mood of the owner. The only contrasting detail was the long white braid that had already slightly unravelled left without the cheerful pom pom scrunchie.
Nikolai could not say for sure what was the main reason for his transformation. Maybe an attempt to hide and become invisible or a change of his mood? He was somehow unable to identify the emotions that were building inside with every heartbeat. Only of one thing he was certain: his heart had not stopped beating yet, still allowing his body to move. And his thoughts were still racing as if they were playing catch-up. However, such a mess always lived in his head, perhaps since his birth.
The nearest flight to St. Petersburg was due in damn long seven hours, the one to Moscow would depart sooner. But Nikolai was eager to wait just to return to his beloved city and not to the capital that devoured the souls of its casual guests. And even more so, of those who came there for a reason.
So he settled down at a table in the far corner of a cafe (or was it a fast food chain? Nikolai did not pay attention) with a cup of coffee that appeared to be a latte with a taste of either hazelnut or caramel syrup. Dipping his hand under the coat, he discreetly stole a cup from a tray from the pick-up counter. In the end, you can’t stay unnoticed sitting in a cafe without drink or food. But no one seemed to care about stolen coffee just as no one cared about the foreigner in the corner.
Or, almost no one.
An hour and a half must have passed when someone almost silently stood behind Nikolai. Almost as if Nikolai should have noticed and become nervous—oh, he'd been tracked down, he'd been found, he'd been discovered! But he simply gave a broad smile, looking at the bottom of his empty coffee cup.
‘Hey, trickster,’ said a rude male voice into his ear, as the owner of the voice leaned over Nikolai's shoulder. ‘Going somewhere?’ the stranger asked, quickly moved closer to the table and covered the boarding pass with his black-gloved hand.
‘I've nothing to do in this country anymore,’ Nikolai shrugged without looking up. His smile was gone, replaced by complete indifference on his face.
‘And that's not for you to decide, darling,’ the man said almost cheekily, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘Just because our government didn’t attempt to detain you, you won’t get away from retribution so easily. Don't you remember that any crime is always followed by the punishment?’
Nikolai sighed at the mention of the ability of his deceased... well, who was Fyodor to him anyway? However, now was not the right time to think about it.
‘Excuse me, sir…’ Nikolai replied, raising his head, while his expression changed again. Now he looked like a harmless and innocent boy. ‘Is there really anything I have to be punished for? Or...’ he lowered his voice and a deep sadness immediately reflected on his face, ‘Don't you think that fate has already punished me enough? Or don’t you know what a terrible tragedy has happened to me?’ Nikolai sighed ostentatiously and hid his face. ‘It's a sin to treat people in mourning like that, you know.’ The corners of his lips lifted in a half-smile but the other man didn't notice that as he answered in a voice more tired than angry.
‘Sin, you say? The port mafia doesn't care about sins. And if my boss thinks it's too early to let you go, I'd drag you back from hell. So, you're coming with me the easy way or...?’
Nikolai's mischievous smile only became more obvious when he rose.
‘I choose a third option! I can disappear at any moment!’ he exclaimed enthusiastically, but his face immediately fell, revealing a more real emotion. Nikolai abruptly sat down. ‘But what would be the point now…’
The black-gloved hand crushed the boarding pass and threw it into a trash bin. For a moment there was a red glow radiating from the piece of paper but it disappeared as soon as the ruined ticket reached the bin.
‘Listen, trickster, don't put on a show for me, okay? I see you're not wearing your cloak, so you're not disappearing anywhere.’ Another hand in a black glove laid on Nikolai's shoulder squeezing it harshly. ‘Get up and move.’
This time Gogol got up slowly. His ‘escort’ had to remove his hand as the height difference made it too inconvenient. Nikolai sighed looking even more unhappy and allowed to take him out from the cafe. But before they've reached the escalator to the ground floor, ‘the prisoner’, who'd been looking through the huge windows of the airport at the planes preparing for takeoff, stopped and said in a playful voice:
‘Maybe we should get acquainted first? We've never been introduced to each other.’ His left arm disappeared under the coat and his hand immediately materialised out of nowhere in front of the man so he did not have to reach far for a handshake. ‘I'm Nikolai Gogol and I prefer to be called by my full name. Come on, shake my hand!’ The cheerful voice sounded insistent one minute but it immediately became quieter and softer, ‘You're also left-handed, right?’
‘So, you still have your cloak…’ The man exhaled, a surprise in his gaze, and focused on the hand floating in the air. However, no matter how vigilant he was it took only a second for the hand to disappear and reappear in mere millimetres from his own, and Nikolai's clutching fingers closed on the palm in a black glove. ‘Hey, don't play with fire, trickster!’
‘I've told you, my name's Nikola-ai,’ drawled Gogol resentfully. ‘Is it so difficult to introduce yourself and shake hands?’
‘Nakahara Chuuya,’ the man muttered in response, casually trying to get rid of the fingers on his hand. ‘Now, let go of me before I make you fall through the floor. Come on, there's a car waiting for us.’
‘Chuuya Nakahara,’ Nikolai repeated wistfully and released opponent's hand. Gogol's fingers danced along the man's wrist, followed up the forearm and grabbed his arm just below the elbow with even more force, crumpling expensive fabric. ‘Oh, can't wait to begin getting closer with you!’ Nikolai didn't care to hide the mischief that replaced the recent bitterness. As suddenly as he changed expression, he pulled out his left hand from under the coat so part of Nakahara's arm was dragged into an invisible portal. ‘I wonder what will you do without your leading hand…’
‘Damn trickster!’ the other man breathed through his teeth, instantly acquiring a red glowing outline and activating gravity control to try to free himself from the tenacious grip. The hand, still held by Nikolai, also got the similar red contour, but the glow quickly flickered and faded.
Gogol grinned. ‘Oh, it seems that my portal doesn't allow you to control all your body parts. How interes—’ He couldn't finish as he suddenly felt a strong pressure on himself pulling him down to the floor. Then Nikolai yanked Nakahara's arm so even the shoulder got into the portal and the man couldn't help wincing as if he'd been in pain. ‘Don't think I won't take you back with me to Russia, Chuuya Nakahara,’ Nikolai hissed, and his sneer became angrier, ‘if it's the only way for me to return home.’
‘You won't leave Yokohama,’ answered the man angrily, left almost without an arm. Nakahara clearly didn't want to lose so he put more strength into his ability. However, the portal did not allow him to pull away or rise above the floor more than a dozen inches, which became obvious when the man grimaced with the sharp pain. Well, he didn't remain in debt. Nikolai imagined that either the floor would crack under his feet instantly or they both would somehow leak through the tiles and concrete and fall from the ceiling of the lower floor. Or more precisely, he would be the one who crashes, while Nakahara would slow down his own fall. And what would happen to the arm that Gogol had been still restraining?..
‘I've warned you,’ Nikolai objected, struggling with gravity, ‘I'll get home at any cost.’ He briefly looked out the window to estimate the distance to the plane taxiing onto the runway, and abruptly pushed away Nakahara's hand so it disappeared in the closing portal. Gogol winced as the headache amplified—well, it was definitely hard to resist such pressure!—while creating a new portal as quickly as possible right behind his glowing red opponent. He leaned forward to force Nakahara to fall into the portal, and immediately closed it. The unnatural pressure eased, and Nikolai exhaled, bending over.
‘Guess I have to visit the capital after all,’ he muttered and straightened up, creating a new portal behind himself and leaning back. He fell into an aircraft seat very elegantly and turned to his involuntary companion, who had just stopped glowing red. Nikolai smiled broadly and switched to Russian, saying: ‘Pozhalyi, ti ponravishsja Moskve, golubchick.’*
Gogol didn't hear the answer as the plane was making too much noise, preparing for takeoff.