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In his prison cell, bathed in an eye-catching yellow glow of a round shape, the ambiance was unusually dim. Supposedly, it was the designated time for sleep, but Fyodor remained skeptical about the existence of a precise schedule in a place designed to confound individuals like him or Dazai. Such attempts at primitive deception proved futile, especially for those well-acquainted with their surroundings and capable of reaching the outside world. Nonetheless, Fyodor set aside the book generously provided to him, closed his eyes, and allowed them to rest. Perhaps he would even recline; if Dazai could afford to sleep opposite him, then so could he.
His eyes gradually succumbed to the call of Morpheus, and his head shifted slightly in anticipation of lying down. Suddenly, a gloved hand covered his mouth, and darkness enveloped him as he lost consciousness. There was no time to register the mass of yellow ability forming right behind him.
When he awoke, a bright light greeted his eyes, accompanied by the cacophony of voices and birdsong swirling around.
"Woke up, Sleeping Beauty!" a familiar voice chuckled.
Nikolai.
He thought with displeasure.
Wait... Nikolai?
Fyodor stood up sharply, examining his surroundings. He sat on a bench in a peaceful park, surrounded by greenery. Birds were singing, and people leisurely walked around, enjoying the pleasant atmosphere. It felt like a serene European setting, a strange contrast to the confusing situation he was in. And in front of him, all joyful, stood the instigator of the crime, twirling his signature cane in his hands. You've got to be kidding me.
"Gogol! You shouldn’t be here," he said in a calm tone without hiding the accusation, giving his friend his cold look. "And not to mention that you should be..."
"Dead?" the clown laughed maliciously, tossing and turning in place, almost jumping out of his skin with joy. "But, as you can see, I’m in front of you! Wouldn't you ask how I survived? Isn't that interesting?"
“Very,” Fyodor agreed sarcastically, although discerning when he spoke with sarcasm was challenging due to his unchanging tone of voice. “But I know you too well to expect an answer.”
Nikolai's eyes sparkled playfully, and he chuckled in amazement, covering his mouth with his hand. “Dos-kun knows me so well.”
“What am I doing here, Nikolai?” Fyodor sighed, feeling the stale air of the prison stifling. The open air and the company of living creatures seemed more pleasant, even in this peculiar situation.
“What are you doing here? Maybe I just wanted to go out with a friend (on Valentine's Day). You were probably bored in that closed room, or maybe I was going to kill you in this beautiful place. Who knows? Guess!” Nikolai chirped joyfully, bringing his face too close. Fyodor could see the blue shades in the gray pupil, burning with excitement, and the small moles that adorned the face of the silver-haired clown.
“Unfortunately, this time even I am perplexed, and honestly, I don’t have time for this. I have a plan that needs to be completed..." Fyodor was just beginning his passionate speech about the cleansing of the world when the arrogant clown interrupted him.
“My Fedya should not have gone to prison!” the clown declared with obviously false angelic naivety.
“Ah... What can I say, in some ways, you are right.” The tired demon rubbed his temples. “But I assumed that Fukuchi would make such a move to get rid of me, and my actions were structured taking this into account. Bring me back, don't force me to extreme measures.” Dostoevsky smiled affectionately, a hidden threat in his eyes.
“Wow!” Nikolai shouted. “What are you going to do? Your ability doesn’t work for me.” Nikolai smiled ironically, almost bloodthirstily.
“What's behind these conclusions?”
Fyodor raised his thin hand threateningly. Nikolai just wanted to grab the pale, bony limb and kiss, bless, squeeze until the bones crunch so that they can be heard. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never seen you kill an ability user with your ability, although it would be much easier. I'm pretty sure it doesn't work on me.”
Fyodor pursed his lips in a stony smile, not showing his emotions. He tilted his head to the side and extended his invitation, almost intimately. “Do you want to check?”
“Hmm...” Nikolai thought with feigned theatricality, putting his hand under his chin. “Nope, I don’t think so! It will be much easier to open two portals and throw you through them endlessly!” the clown said animatedly.
Fyodor imagined this dizzyingly unpleasant picture; he winced with displeasure. “Don't even think about doing it.” He took out his dagger to prove his intention to return and continue to carry out his plan.
“Oh, dos-kun, where did you get it from?! Magic!” Gogol smiled mockingly. “Don’t you want to go for a little walk; I just want to spend time together.”
Fyodor pondered the proposal; he wouldn’t mind ordering some good tea somewhere. He couldn’t stomach musty prison tea no longer, . The idea of sitting in a pleasant restaurant, enjoying the view, and perhaps appreciating the impeccable silver (Fyodor loves the color white) hair and conversations of his captor seemed more appealing.
The thought of the city at night, sharing a moment with Gogol over a bottle of wine, also held a certain allure.
It was peculiar; he hadn’t desired to spend time like this before. Maybe something had changed within him, more than he could fathom, or perhaps the confinement of prison had taken a toll on him.
“I will agree only if we order tea somewhere,” Fyodor compromised.
Then they settled in one of the city's upscale cafes adorned with beautiful ornaments on the white walls and marble decorations. Having ordered the long-awaited delicious tea, which emitted a pleasant aroma, Fyodor, sporting his most faithful and sincere smile, savored each sip from the cup, relishing the moment. Nikolai chattered about various topics, even managing to share a story about a trick with a saw, though he previously insisted that magicians never reveal their secrets.
“Fedya, I’ve been pondering. Screw Fukuchi,” the clown declared, as if it was a matter of no consequence.
"Excuse me, what?" Fyodor queried.
“He tried to deceive both of us!” Nikolai exclaimed.
“That was kind of my plan -“ but Nikolai either didn’t hear him or pretended not to.
“Agree, forget about it! Let the old man deal with it himself. The final stages are happening soon, and your stint in prison won’t contribute anything to the plan, Fedya. If he manages to get his hands on the book, I might even help you, and we’ll jump into action! You’ll rid us of everyone with abilities, including me and yourself, and voilà, the balance of the universe will be restored, or whatever… And if not, well, serves him right,” Gogol said animatedly, theatrically waving his hands.
“This is utter nonsense, Kolya," Fyodor shook his head.
“What do you have to lose, Fedya?” Nikolai almost stood up, attracting everyone’s attention. Of course, they could have disappeared if anything happened, given Nikolai’s ability, but perhaps they should have put more effort into secrecy than just choosing an empty corner of a cafe and discussing potentially sensitive plans.
“I have to keep an eye on Dazai.”
“For what? So now he’s sitting in his prison cell, and if he somehow escapes, it’s unlikely that you could prevent it.”
“You’re offending me,” Fyodor retorted in a more lighthearted tone. “Dazai is the main obstacle, and that’s why I’m going to get rid of him,” he argued, dissatisfied.
“Don’t take it all upon yourself, Dos-kun. I’m sure you can handle it,” Nikolai praised lovingly and enthusiastically, which made Fyodor smile slightly to himself. “But Dazai has a lot of accomplices who would definitely help him; you wouldn’t be able to cope with him alone. Going solo against him is not wise, don’t you agree?”
Fyodor cradled his thoughts behind the rim of his teacup, averting his gaze, reluctant to admit he might actually agree with the sentiments. He was always alone and coped as best he could, and admitting that he needed help was an impossible task.
“Maybe lurking in the shadows doesn’t sound too bad. Rumors spread swiftly; soon, everyone will be scouring Yokohama for that book… And with such company, I won’t get bored.” He offered a smile, this time soft and gentle.
In response, Gogol reciprocated with a warm smile, reaching out to clasp Fyodor’s hand and tenderly stroking his smaller palm.
After a span of what felt like both minutes and hours—time a hazy notion—their awkward glances occasionally melted into shared laughter as they reluctantly withdrew.
“Dos-kun, I’ve got an entire list of things for us to enjoy. We’ll all have so much fun!” Nikolai exclaimed.
“All of us?” Fyodor questioned, realizing Nikolai meant more than just the two of them.
“Oh, precisely-precisely! Oops, I almost forgot!! Sigmushka is in trouble in his casino! What time is it, tell me; I need to get to him on time.”