Work Text:
“You know, Kirillov, you mustn’t go on staying up every night.”
Shatov might have even thought that Kirillov never went to bed at night, if he hadn't seen him sleeping several times. Always – almost by accident, as much as it is possible to accidentally see a person sleeping if you spend with him every day and every hour.
But with Kirillov, of course, everything was possible.
Shatov always fell asleep easily. Not always right away, but usually it wasn’t his own choice – sometimes they both stayed awake for a long time, and talked, talked, talked. Thoughts were swarming inside, rushing out, and would not let him calm down until they had all been voiced. Only then, with an empty head, could Shatov fall asleep – as soon as his head touched any horizontal surface. But the awake Kirillov was almost a constant – this is how Shatov saw him when he fell asleep and also when he woke up in the morning.
One might have thought that Kirillov did not sleep at all. This would be extremely irrational, and another person might have deliberately stayed awake, just to understand whether Kirillov was sleeping or not, but Shatov, one might say, accepted his friend as he was – with any possible or impossible qualities.
Chances are he would never have known whether Kirillov was sleeping or not. But sometimes Shatov was still woken up by a rare midge that landed on his face, and he woke up late at night, looked at his right shoulder and saw sleeping Kirillov.
To be honest, the sight was rather terrifying. So much so that Shatov wanted to immediately find a little mirror and bring it to Kirillov’s nose. Maybe in other circumstances he wouldn't think of it much, but the night and darkness developed suspiciousness. The topic of death, which was increasingly emerging in their conversations, did not help his calmness either.
The first time he saw him like this, Shatov himself stopped breathing, listening, but the midges around him showed more signs of life. Shatov did not have a mirror, so, biting his lips, he put his ear to Kirillov's chest. Hearing the steady beat of his heart, Shatov pulled back and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible, strenuously ignoring the loud beating of his own heart. Kirillov, it seems, didn’t wake up then…
Shatov did not have nightmares often, but when he did, since then Kirillov was their frequent guest. The worry for him flowed from consciousness into the subconscious, from there into dreams. In them, from night to night, only the circumstances changed, the only constant was Kirillov, invariably dead at the end.
The scariest of all were the nights when Shatov woke up from a nightmare and saw before him a motionless – sleeping! which his mind always seemed to forget – Kirillov. Horror stepped from dreams into reality, became more tangible. There was little rationality in this fear, Kirillov was hardly in danger of such a quiet death (Shatov had already gotten used to thinking about this as something inevitable, if only out of respect for his friend). So passionate about firearms, Kirillov would definitely not choose poison, and he would not leave so suddenly .
But even the memories of such nights paled in comparison to another one, which Shatov tried not to think about at all. That night, having once again barely escaped from his nightmare, Shatov woke up to see other’s. Kirillov was breathing heavily next to him, frowning, even twitching in his sleep. And what struck Shatov most of all, what stuck in his memory for a long time to come, was that the first thing he felt was relief. He immediately felt pang of conscience , but it was difficult to overcome this impulse, this exultant "alive!" that so inopportunely flashed through his head when he looked at Kirillov suffering from a nightmare.
Having come to his senses, Shatov touched Kirillov on the shoulder, and he woke up very soon, opened his eyes, and seemed not at all surprised when he looked at Shatov - he blinked away the sleep so easily.
Shatov stared at him intently for several seconds, and then, on impulse, hugged him tightly. Too many feelings were mixed in him then, both joy and shame for his thoughts. But Shatov immediately felt ashamed of this impulse also, he pulled away, turned on his side and tried to fall asleep.