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No, he could not forget Fyodor even if he wanted to, but during their acquaintance, he did not learn even the smallest minimum about the man who had absorbed his mind and entire being. The image he invented cannot be compared with reality—wrong emotions, wrong words, wrong facial expressions: too cold, too warm, too...! Too different.
His hands dug their nails into his shoulders, tearing at them until they bled, in an attempt to drive away thoughts of pain. Fyodor would have laughed, consoled, accused. He did not know. He would say that man is not able to recreate the creation of God, but maybe not.