There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with full lungs

“This”, eye-patch came off. “This doesn’t hide a thing”, Fyodor ridiculed while stripping him of the mask, figuratively and literally. “Eyes are a mirror of a soul. Don’t think I can’t see your yearning. Don’t think I can’t smell it”
Lungs betrayed by forcing a cough. Nikolai clasped mouth to hold the petals in but couldn't do a thing about oppressive scent of flowers, proving Fyodor’s taunt. “Tell me Dos-kun, do you, at very least, find my downfall amusing?”
“You humans are foolishly stupid but I can’t lie your asininity isn’t entertaining”, Fyodor laughed warmly but smile didn’t reach the eyes, just like fingers caressing cheek they remained cold. “You paint a beautiful tragedy”

fyolai Hanahaki AU

Notes:

Happy birthday Nikolai, or maybe not considering how angsty this is. He proclaims feelings alone make him feel trapped so I was led to wonder how much worse he’d feel if he’s physically trapped by them as well – ergo Hanahaki disease. For those that don’t know it’s a fictional disease caused by unrequited love. One whose feelings ain’t returned starts coughing flowers, which might lead to death if disease is left untreated. Whether Nikolai's love is here is intentionally left ambiguous (also keep in mind he's an unreliable narrator).
Fic takes place in canon universe and interlaces with canon timeline further on.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Odors have a power of persuasion stronger than that of words, appearances, emotions, or will. The persuasive power of an odor cannot be fended off, it enters into us like breath into our lungs, it fills us up, imbues us totally. There is no remedy for it

On the day they first met is began to snow. Snowflakes fell one after another, titillated with etherealness giving impression of heftiness; kept on falling and falling, burying the hollowing truth beneath. Out of sight, out of mind – except that incorporeal but formidable something always lingered in the back of psyche – haunted in a shadow but never revealed true colors. Only palpable was the heady scent of virulent flowers. Whenever he closed eyes he’d be plagued with an image of blood trailing down pure white petals onto the virgin snow, both stained by the thralldom dubbed love.

Perhaps it was a mere inkling back then, but now Nikolai was positive that day divided life into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Countless souls gave comprehension a shot, not a single managed to get to the bottom of the enigma his volatile self-conflicting mind depicted. With Fyodor sense of understanding arrived naturally. Every time those icy violet eyes skimmed over him he’d shudder – feel like being pierced to the very core, bared to the very bone. Nothing passed over those hawk eyes. In a wink he was throw from the frigid shadows into blistering light; discomposing but then again, maybe some changes are to be cherished, in spite of the disquietude. Nikolai tried to not ponder too much on the why’s and wherefore’s as they brought about only madness, never answers – just like he tried to not dwell too much on reasons for the warm fuzziness whenever Fyodor is around.

Either way, Fyodor changed his life, be it for the better or for the worst. His very presence provided a brain-riddle Nikolai itched to solve, yet never managed to scratch pass the surface. That’s not to say endeavors were for the naught, just that the harder he cerebrated the harder it became to keep thoughts from drifting into the forbidden waters. Before he knew it every triviality brought Fyodor to mind. Lack of volition discomfited the most, he felt overtaken by the ailing mind. That realization was the crème de la crème, added another agonizing conundrum on top of the pile.

Little by little collar stiffened around neck. Nikolai didn’t realize he was suffocating until not even a pinky could squeeze through. He needs to deliver himself from this prison, however chest quenched at the bare though of unattainable liberty. Sense of subjugation is just the beginning. He had a hunch he’ll get to know the real meaning of hell very soon.

Snow kept on falling. Nikolai counted it’ll cover whatever unpleasant truth dwells beneath – not because he took pride in escapism, but because it became a must, simply so he can preserve as he is – so mirage of freedom can maintain. Little did he know how thin was the ice he skated on, what avalanche is about be unleashed. Nikolai acknowledged Fyodor changed his life. What he could not is how profound and cataclysmal that change has been. Buried beneath the snow he could pretend scenery stayed the same. Once the first buds bloom and reveal a malformed shape and toxic fragrance he’ll have to grasp the nettle.

For a week now he’s been waking up with a sore throat and inexplicable tightness in chest. Must be a minor cold, Nikolai shrugged the unease off. Hard pill to swallow but he’s not above a nuisance called piffling human sickness. Far from the first time and it sure as shouting won’t be the last, thence Nikolai didn’t attribute it more meaning than it merited; didn’t quite dare scrutinize further. Regardless, in the small hours doubt would worm in. What if it’s that? What if heart caught an incurable illness? Oh if only Nikolai could reassure himself those conjectures are baseless. Truth is far cry from pleasant, there’s a very good reason why he refused to dive deeper into unlit corners of own mind. Escapism is an antithesis of every value he stood for, however since that person stepped into his life it’s been turned upside down; common sense distorted, two and two no longer made four. At times he had to step over very axiom of being, merely to hold onto the last thread of crumbling sanity.

Today Nikolai woke up feeling different. Not necessarily worse for weather or refreshed, just different – had a hunch he’s on brink of something life-altering – something that’d shed light onto sleepless nights and indistinct yearning he’s to elude but couldn’t help ceding to. Not the one to let sixth sense sway any more than it had the right to, Nikolai adamantly ignored the intuition and went on as usual. Just like before he tried not to contemplate too much why he’s worse for wear and why chest ached unremittingly, yet goes bad to worse whenever that person crosses mind. Certainly couldn’t be anything good, however he still naively held breath this is not a beginning of the end. Because what else if left for him other than blind hope? He could only pray snow will last forevermore.

Of course it didn’t. God never answered his prayers, much less this heartfelt. That night snow began melting, revealing all skeletons beneath. Nikolai has been on his way back to the motel room when unbearable pain struck through chest, nothing remotely comparable to the clenching he’s been subjected to in previous days. Nikolai found himself tumbling over; in the nick of time griped a streetlight to maintain balance. To no avail, he began coughing violently like on the verge of death.

Lungs burned. He tried to take in a deep breath but found himself unable to. It ached. Ached too much. Flowery fragrance came out of nowhere, almost as if from within. It reeked. Reeked so much eyes stung. For a fleeting moment odor suffocated more than coughs – suffocated with the realization worst nightmare turned into reality. Once a fool, always a fool. Nikolai tried convincing himself blossomy scent is just the first sign of upcoming spring, nothing grimmer. Au fond he knew self-deception is no longer cutting it, but he had no other ace up sleeve.

Eventually coughing subdued enough for proper breath, however relief was short-lived. Nikolai lifted head, blinked rapidly so vision clarifies. Something silky was in the left palm, light yet cumbrous. Nikolai glanced down and heart stopped. It was a violet petal. Single one could be a coincidence, but he was past the point of indulging in infantile self-deceptions; never led anywhere. If he could laugh he probably would have. Corners of eyes stung but he wasn’t bestowed with cleansing in form of tears; no one to mourn, not even own clipped wings. In retrospect bars have been closing in for a long long time, only now he had to face up to the fact his philosophy was falling apart at the seams. Free will faded into a long lost dream, from here on his life is no longer his.

Goes without saying how inane iota of introspection would be. Shade of the petal was the same as that person’s arresting eyes; even if it weren’t he would have known. Only one person waltzed into heart – only one person can crumble all defenses and rewrite the very biology with a single glance and a honeyed praise; not a drop of sincerity in either, just a prudent poison bolstering malady of his heart.

Gaze locked onto the purple petal. Mind was rendered blank; no matter how much Nikolai tried to cognize gears refused to shift. He glassily stared at the petal, praying it’ll disperse into the thin air like an illusion it must be. Futile, mirage it was not, just a daunting reminder everything he vowed to elude was not only knocking on the door but long past the threshold. Otiose to try throwing it out, infection reached the core. It spread rapidly, like malignant cancer. Even if, by some miracle, he finds a cure it’ll be transitorily – when push comes to shove possessed by plaguing loneliness he’ll open the door himself.

Hand quivered, nothing to do with coldness. He should have crushed the petal but couldn’t. Instead it slipped through fingers and to the ground. Nikolai hoped snow will mantle his secrets, like it did numberless times before; conceal them from own eyes as well, at least for a little bit more, so he can conjure a comforting dream. But snow was no more. There was nothing to hide him from no other than himself. Only one beaten part remained and it led towards that person – right towards the cliff edge.

Spring has arrived. Deep in his soul Nikolai knew he won’t get to see the next snow.

- - - - - - -

No better than a credulous child he held onto hope this is all one gigantic nightmare. Puerile and below his level, yes Nikolai knew, but no man is completely free of sin of desire. Believer he’s never been, saint even less, of course his prayers went unanswered. Rest of that day was spent in a daze. Nikolai couldn’t recall what he ruminated, much less what he ended up doing. All he could remember is the madness he drove himself into. Who knows what time distress made him slip into unconsciousness, but birds were already tweeting. Their singing followed into dreams, ridiculed with freedom he’s stripped of. He would have tweeted in unison but when they’ll soar up high he’d be left behind, unable to fly.

It was roughly eight in the morning when coughing fit jolted Nikolai awake. Dizziness rendered coherency unworkable, thence disease slipped mind for a moment – flowery scent was a slap to the face. He’s woken up inside a cage; no, that wasn’t spot-on, cage is within himself. Heart and body are no longer unconfined, only mind yet it craved for ruination. This time he coughed out more than a single petal; far from a handful but Nikolai knew it’ll soon be. Now in room’s light he could make them out – dark purple round leaves, narrow and oblong, by all indications it’s Wolf’s bane. Beautiful yet venomous, very much like that person. How apt it’s called devil’s helmet, he kidded wryly.

Entire plight was poetically absurd, meriting a laughing fit. What jester wouldn’t make a game out of own misery? Of course he should mock. Matter is far from a laughing once, which made gag just the more scrumptious: his magnum opus. What’s a greater performance than the one performer doesn’t get to see the end of? His tragedy would be balladry worthy, ergo delivering. However laugher failed to arrive for couple days. Once it did Nikolai found it detestable. Tears emerged at eyes’ corners, not out of anguish but how much chest tensed with every breath; flowers asphyxiated, he felt like breathing toxins instead of oxygen. With every movement Nikolai sensed roots scraping lungs, poisonous leaves tickling insides. Everything requiring more than tin physical effort, that used to be a cushy job, now proved loading. Bit by bit flowers deprived of body autonomy; clipped wings, no longer just figuratively.

Wolf’s bane has a potential to cure grave diseases, but it can also kill if not handled properly – slightest miscalculation separated life from death. Easily duping artless souls with its seductive beauty, it’s quite apposite he became victim of a such flower. Like you’ve sent them to me personally, like the illness isn’t byproduct of my doltishness.

Either way, something truly vile was growing inside of him. At first it was just a metaphorically malignant love, but over the time it metamorphosed into corporeal sickness. It was born out of foolish human longing for an ounce of understanding, now it’ll be the end of him. If his greatest sin is falling in love then perhaps it’s for the best he’s liberated from the illness humanity connotes.

- - - - - - -

So far Fyodor hasn’t said a thing. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed. However there’s no such thing as forever, at some point his luck will run out, only quandary whether disease would get out of hand that much he cannot withhold it. By the time it meddles with health more than beating out a couple coughs and causing chest pain Fyodor will know – sure enough wouldn’t hold back on nettling.

In the beginning it was easy to hide it. Not to mention there was no one concrete to hide it from, he’s leading a life of a lone wolf. As weeks passed by longing intensified, in accordance condition exacerbated. Keeping distance isn’t the magical cure, it didn’t alleviate the heartache. That’s not to say he should go out of his way to be around Fyodor, far from that. Pity looks he was spared in public were the worst as it testified to how shoddy facade became. If random strangers took note of the symptoms with mere glances then he’d be an open book to Fyodor’s all-seeing eyes. Close proximity elicits danger, staying away bodes for hardships. Heart dictated nearness, mind knew better than to yield to the witless longing. Ultimately Nikolai found himself on the fence where grass was equally ashen on the both sides. Only freedom he was given is to determine own downfall.

But that intoxicating floral fragrance… it hounded. Before he knew it natural body scent got eclipsed by the heady mystifying one of the Wolf’s bane. It carried an undertone of breeziness, contrarily odor was that pungent it came off as tyrannous. Therefore he’d be a fool to hold onto hope scent alone didn’t give away. At first perfume did the trick, but as disease progressed it ceased working. Even if, by some miracle, Fyodor doesn’t notice that fixes nothing. Nikolai knew his days are numbered.

- - - - - - -

Hanahaki is a disease of afflicted hearts. Correction, not precisely afflicted but fettered. Nikolai couldn’t recall when he first heard of it, must have been quite young and credulous back then. All he remembers is the looming sense of doom awareness instilled into him. Nipping hollowness shadowed to this day, he couldn’t shake off the dread such wretched fate is awaiting him. Surely it must be. It was a gut feeling. For those reasons he vowed to never get close, to shield heart from the besmirched hands of another. If he has to be confined, leastwise let it be by the own skull, not some foolish love disease – let him have the freedom to dictate own decay at very least.

Now that he’s subjected to just that dopey love-sickness Nikolai came to know a true meaning of being a prisoner of the own body. All bardic mouthfuls and convoluted airy philosophies how utmost freedom is unreachable ceased into the void, for they’ve always been a hot air. He could live with a tempest within head dictated by the capriciousness, but not with roots and thorns sprouting inside lungs. With each breath rib-cage tautened, thorns dug into skin and tore from within. Love no longer stung just figuratively. Some breath will be his last – will deliver him from the hampers.

Disease takes couple weeks to months to develop and show first symptoms – first bubs of spring. If left untreated, or should he say unrequited, it can become fatal in couple months, in some rare cases as little as weeks; of course, depending on ferocity of affections and degree of reciprocation. Doesn’t matter if insincerely, physical affections without love can dupe the heart and mend the worst symptoms. Agony is still avowed, disease can’t be cured, just moderated. If love doesn’t wane over time death is certain. Nikolai is certain that fate awaits, only beacon of hope is love kills him as soon as possible.

Of course it’s one-sided. If it weren’t he wouldn’t have been convinced he feel in love. Greatest gift Fyodor could grant him is dispersion of doubt, everything else is a comeuppance. To love is to suffer and that’s the only way love can be. If only I could share that suffering with you, it’d be no quantum leap but at least I’d breathe a little lighter. But you don’t want to carry any burden without a gain.

Virulent love being one-sided was one of worriers, howbeit the least. Even if, by some miracle, he survives the Hanahaki disease he still won’t Fyodor’s clutches. He’s too deep in now, withdrawal, in the best case scenario, promised to hurt like hell. Flowers aren’t a root of his problems but a corporal manifestation – a repercussion.

- - - - - - -

Sooner or later luck had to run out. Sooner or later he was bound to cough in front of Fyodor and let the cat out of bag. Wolf’s bane is toxic, however guaranteed less ache than Fyodor catching a glimpse of the flowers. Nikolai clapped mouth and tried to hold them in. Single petal slipped through fingers, but it was enough to give him away. However even if it weren’t for the exposing scene and blooming scent Nikolai had an inkling Fyodor would have figured it out anyways.

Phonily docile smile confirmed the suspicion. “Now that’s what I call a surprise”, Fyodor cocked chin and droned once coughing ratcheted down.

Taut ached more than flowers themselves. Nikolai clasped chest and heaved, this time artificially; wasn’t about to give Fyodor a pleasure of seeing him this discomposed. “Quite marvelous show, don’t you think?”, so he mirrored Fyodor’s dry amusement and lied, fully aware how impetuous the scrip is.

As expected cheesy show earned him a titter. “Are you implying it’s pretense?”, Fyodor approached with a knowing smile; implanted trepidation Nikolai hoped isn’t vindicated. “I didn’t know your tricks extended to yourself as well”, huskiness of Fyodor’s voice alongside knavish flash in gaze dashed last beacon of hope.

Nikolai didn’t have time to decide which mask to choose, let alone try it on and weight if it fits. Fyodor griped his chin and held with gentleness that could only be described as scurrilous. Notwithstanding the height difference Nikolai felt like he’s been looked down on. “I know flowers when I see them”, caress tender, voice sharp like knife.

All his effort to resist the wires turned bootless; under Fyodor’s touch enervated heart rendered him immobile. That icy touch, that dulcet voice, that gaze, so ice cold yet fiery – it’s pointless, sickness within doesn’t let him hold out. Heart was brought to its knees. He’s not strong enough to fight the strings, only option is to surrender to the inevitable – to the puppeteer.

Before Nikolai knew it Fyodor took his eye patch off. “This doesn’t hide a thing”, chaff got heart sinking for he Fyodor had him puzzled out. “Don’t think I can’t see yearning in your eyes”

Of course you know. In hindsight he wouldn’t be surprised if Fyodor figured before he did, before the disease even developed. Fyodor’s lack of naked scoffing is the silver lining, but everything else is a complete debacle; not that a single jeer was requisite, Fyodor was laughing at him with eyes. Still, that’s just a tip of the iceberg, real hell is about to begin once Fyodor holds affections against him. One needn’t be a brainiac to contrive thousands ways of how obsessive love can be weaponized; needn’t be a brainiac to realize Fyodor will come up with stratagems so sinister human mind cannot wrap around a single. Path is a thorny one, spiraling downhill faster than he can possibly envisage.

Before those hawk eyes not a thing could be cloaked. Beyond foolish to deny it, yes, Nikolai knew it excruciatingly well, but he couldn’t look truth in the eye either. Therefore he lowered head and flashed a smirk heavy with self-denigration. “For freedom…”, forced himself to chunter through teeth, more to convince himself than anyone else; needless to say effort didn’t pay off.

“I suppose”, Fyodor hummed woodenly. Then stepped closer and tipped his chin so they’re eye to eye – so nothing is hidden, so he feels seen and judged. “But that’s a pipe dream now, isn’t it?”, he added thinly but words felt like a punch in the gut. Nikolai tried to take in a deep breath but roots scraped against lungs, making it an uphill climb to withhold coughs on time.

It always has been a flight of fancy, he’s just been too weak to acknowledge postulation was erroneous. Now that disease pressed against the wall he could no longer cling onto the belief freedom seeking philosophy ever had any grounding; nor merit, while he can afford full candor. The stricter codex, the firmer principles, the more of a fool man is. The vaster the mind the less one’s to achieve in life. Free birds will never become anything, it’s only real fools, not self-imprisoned ones like him who had immense potential and gambled it all for nothing, that are truly free from all hardships being alive stipulates. By loving he came to know what it feels to be human – to be, as Fyodor liked to call it, sinfully foolishly human.

Still, ceding won’t get him anywhere, not to mention surely wouldn’t win any pluses in Fyodor’s book – never made it into a habit to chase them but now they became pivotal for survival. For those reasons Nikolai seized his wrists and pulled it away. Nonetheless couldn’t resist the temptation, had to rub pinky up icy cold skin to ease the ache. For a second lungs burned a little less, closeness duped besotted heart that Fyodor’s passivity and curiously mellow gleam in fuzzy eyes meant something – if it sowed hope it had to be misled.

Nikolai forced a smile; force of habit, thankfully came in handy. “But you’re wrong there Dos-kun”, no you’re not. “Flowers themselves might be irremovable but their source is painfully mortal”, yet I never brought myself to remove it.

Thinly veiled threat piqued Fyodor’s interest. Buzzing he tipped head and meticulously inspected him for a little while; then chuckled as if he’s reached a verdict. Nikolai’s heart skipped a beat, then sank, because he knew what’s coming – what comeback he offered Fyodor on a silver plate. “Is that why you’re here?”, as anticipated he wised off, tone teeming with arrogance.

Nikolai expected eyes to dim and lips to offer another quip, certainly didn’t Fyodor to reach for the shirt and unfastened couple buttons at collar – much less to clasp his hand and guide it to own neck. “Go ahead”, he provoked null of any tactile fear, veins didn’t pulsate under fingertips, shivers didn’t trace over skin. Fyodor was as imperturbable as always, unlike him whose blood went cold by the mere prospect of murdering the only one who turned his world around, for better or for worst.

“Show me how it feels to be suffocated”

Breath hitched in throat. If heart leaped then there would be hope he can make it out alive, as a free man. Instead it sank and illustrated scales will always tip in favor of lunacy, never soundness. If he kills Fyodor he’d be free – not of the besetting mind and stricken heart, just the pesky flowers. But the cage of his skull, oh it will remain. It will bedevil until he’s driven mad in a way only sane man with open mind can be. Gory end at the hands of Hanahaki would be a more merciful way out – more dignified.

I can’t show you. Maybe you’ll understand it, but you’ll never feel it. You, who denounced everything that denotes humanity, cannot possibly experience heartbreak like this.

- - - - - - -

In the end he couldn’t do it. Came as no surprise, indisposed heart made the decision long before fingers curled around Fyodor’s neck. Of course he backed off, of course titter and slick smirk received teed off – but he couldn’t do a thing about it, malignancy quelled the mere idea of harming Fyodor and earning a ticked out via foully escapistic tricks. Sure as shouting Fyodor knew he would chicken out, thus goaded that callously. In retrospect that has been the first instance of Fyodor using affections against him – everything in his conduct signified it’ll be far cry from the last.

After that encounter he avoided Fyodor like a plague; easier said than done when he plagues mind and heart. Still, work tied them. From time to time they met to exchange information – which, of course, always took place in private. Fyodor never passed a chance to jab and even violate his personal space, just to tease him. If those pats and nuzzles meant a thing, he wouldn’t be irked. But he knew Fyodor better than that. If they truly meant a thing Fyodor wouldn’t be extending affections that freely, but rather withdrew into own shell where nothing can touch – nothing can hurt.

That’s how Nikolai knew affections will never be returned. Yet, in a rather absurd twist of things, maybe it’s better that way. Leastwise he’ll leave this human earth without ever getting to know wickedness known as Fyodor’s distorted vision of love.

- - - - - - -

Disease took the turn for the worse. He came down with fever. Nothing unexpected, still Nikolai held onto hope illness won’t escalate this much this fast. But it did, demonstrating how much the devil wormed into heart. At first Nikolai brushed the coughing and chest clenching off, wasn’t about to be hampered by the piffling discomfort – but it wasn’t piffling, oh far cry from. Whenever he’d try moving lungs would protest; burn to the point where he’d lose control and tumble. Ultimately he ended up bedridden. Sick love for equally sick man striped him of freedom of movement, injury couldn’t be greater.

As always it all circled back to Fyodor. Granted they were supposed to meet that day on the other side of the city Nikolai sent him a text how he hasn’t fetched the required documents yet; white lie, he did days prior, just would rather Fyodor doesn’t see him like this. Disgrace didn’t source from the vulnerability itself, but the source of said vulnerability. With a single glance Fyodor would have him puzzled out, occasioning derision he’d rather forgo. For those reasons Nikolai didn’t share his current whereabouts. Surely a minor hitch wouldn’t prevent Fyodor from locating him if he wished to, but at very least sent a message he isn’t welcomed – not now, not ever. Nikolai was determined to see this bedlam to the end. Better die as a free man than live in the shackles of the illness of the folly.

Rain kept on falling, he kept on tossing and turning, trying to get a wink of sleep; wasn’t granted a single. Fever was killing him, tightness in chest galling like every breath might be the last. Woefully it was not, he had to do his time in this life, fettered by not only awareness of the bared mind but also of malady growing inside of him. Prior to Hanahaki Nikolai could turn the blind eye to the fuzzy warmth whenever he’d think of Fyodor; channeled tremendous energy into thwarting the aha moment. But snow couldn’t last forever, bubs had to bloom sometime. This is his punishment for choosing to close eyes and hoping dawn would miraculously remedy the longing. Now he was coughing that violently he had to bend over the edge of the bed and spit. It hurt so much he felt like insides are being torn apart; seeing he coughed chunks of flesh and blood comparison wasn’t all that emblematic.

Door swung open, drizzling instantly crystallized; still didn’t palliate. “It’d be a hassle, you know”, mellifluous voice didn’t either. Approaching footsteps winded up, but Nikolai didn’t have energy to shift head towards their direction, much less do a thing about the intruder. “To lose someone as powerful as yourself for something as foolish as unrequited love”

Delirium tampered with senses, nevertheless the second Nikolai digested the words he knew it can be only one person. So you’ve came to me, as a grim riper. Nothing attracted the devil like misery he can hone into the keenest blade. Trust Fyodor to put profit above consideration. Society doesn’t values integrity and barmy principles akin to his, the slier you are the further you’ll climb in life. That’s why Fyodor will never be hampered by oafishness of the heart ache. Even if, by a fluke, he were to wouldn’t waste a second mending the disease, gladly stepping over decorum and ideals to save own skin.

Mattress dented to Nikolai’s left, sign Fyodor sat beside; gentle palpating up the forearm confirmed the inkling. “But, in a way, it’s poetic”, he began humbly, like a facilitation – telltale brainwashing is approaching. “You humans may be foolishly stupid but I can’t lie your asininity isn’t entertaining”, Fyodor ended with warm laughter; needless to specify it sounded to a travesty to his sensitive heart.

Touch, as piddling and feathery as it is, bracing. Absurd how little it took for ache to subdue. Quite denotative what power Fyodor held over him. But he couldn’t yield, it’d signal the end. Nikolai gathered breath and thoughts in order to masquerade, save last ounce of dignity. “As a performer…”, furious cough cut him off. More blood gushed down chin, thankfully Fyodor shied from any digs and settled on a wince. “I’ll take that as a compliment”

“As you should”, purred Fyodor too velvety for his heart – it clenched in bullish hope isn’t misguided. Before Nikolai mustered resolve to sit up and properly confront Fyodor scooted closer, cupped his cheek and gazed with tenderness that had to be artificial. “You paint a beautiful tragedy”

Corner of eyes pricked. For a second Nikolai wished he had an eye patch on, so he could mask the glassiness Fyodor surely saw through. This doesn’t hide a thing, don’t think I can’t see yearning in your eyes. No, Fyodor was wrong there. Mask is no longer for the pubic but for the very self. It merged with skin, comforted just by being intact. Lousy charade would normally be an offense to dexterity, however Nikolai found himself too sapless to possibly care about niceties any longer. Mayhap they’ve never made a dime worth of difference, lost in his fanciful philosophies divorced from any grounding he couldn’t notice how far off the shore he sailed – not until nipping loneliness engulfed and he began craving human warmth. Now he got it, but it came at a hefty price.

Caresses kept on pacifying; with each pressure in chest dwindled. Rather than cathartic experience felt like an adversity. Eyes kept on smarting, tears on the verge of spilling but he wasn’t allowed cleansing that liberating. Fyodor’s kindness hurts more than his cruelty. Nikolai heaved a sigh, uncaring for the following ache. “Should I take this as a farewell?”, tried to come off as unwavering, but voice cracked like he was about to cry.

Fyodor didn’t respond right away, instead thoroughly studied him. Humming and pursuing lips he feigned consideration, like he didn’t come here with every answer carved in stone. “Not necessarily”, he suspired eventually, like anything has the power to truly move him. “After all, decision is in your hands”

What decision? What is possibly in his hands now, when he’s dying from the love-sickness in a shoddy motel room? Surely it had to be a tasteless jab. What else could have Fyodor meant? Nikolai summoned enough strength to finally sit up but not to confront. Dizziness chose the moment to sweep by, he nearly toppled. He ended up leaning against Fyodor’s shoulder; now needed his support both allegorically and literally. “I’m not a robot Dos-kun”, Nikolai heaved, worn down on every level. “I can’t just turn my feelings off” like you do.

Echoing sigh indicated Fyodor read into the small print, touch additionally mellowed. “That’s not what I’m suggesting”, tone followed the pattern, that’s how Nikolai knew he’s being played. How so and for what gain, woefully he couldn’t puzzle that out on time. “I know it can’t be cured that way”, Fyodor added with a slier touch and nuzzled closer; got his heart jumping.

Hands rested on shoulders, purportedly for balance; oh if only, he made it into a habit to be gullible. “But there is a way”, Fyodor’s breath ghosted over lips. Pang. Nikolai blinked slowly, trying to grasp how it came to the realization of his most feverish dreams; futile, fever rendered mind a mush, fuzziness closeness instilled added oil to the fire. It’s pointless, he can’t resist it – not those eyes piercing into soul, not the gentle fingers used to only heaving strings.

Without a warning Fyodor straddled his lap, cupped cheeks and brought their noses together. Even from this close Nikolai could make out a wicked grin. “Favor for a favor, let’s help each other out”, devil whispered as he began leaning in.

Just like that it all came crashing down. So that’s what Fyodor meant. So that’s why he’s here. Recognition felt like a slap to the face. Suffering induced by the Hanahaki couldn’t compare to this heartbreak. Heh. Just when I allowed myself to dream you’re starting to know human longing you have to prove it’ll always be out of reach for your demon kind. Their lips hardly brushed, slightest contact was enough to snap Nikolai out of it. Inertia was replaced by the burning rage, febrility eclipsed by far more harrowing sizzling. How dare he?! How dare he insult his feelings this much?! What gives him the right to toy with people’s hopes? No word could suffice, nothing could delineate fiendishness that only Fyodor can impose.

In the nick of time Nikolai veered head to the side, answering the pitiless proposal without a single word. Still, entailment couldn’t be confuted. Fyodor never viewed him as a person, just a weapon. He was a fool to hope sprout can ever blossom into a flower not oozing with poison.

Spleen sparked off. In a blink Nikolai went from frigid to charged up. “You have five seconds to get out”, he spit with force that knocked Fyodor for six. Under some other circumstances he would have found his peeved bemused expression riveting. Blinded by the rage all Nikolai could see was red. If he had the strength to move he would have thrown Fyodor out himself, although was positive if he laid a finger on Fyodor accumulated anger would have overruled and resulted in bloodshed.

Sensing blood lust oozing from him Fyodor had enough level-headedness to, at very least, stand up; didn’t put much distance however. “But-”

“Don’t make me count”, Nikolai glowered, civility discarded. But showing teeth didn’t do the trick, Fyodor remained in place, doubtlessly weighting if to yield or push. He said decision is in his hand, therefore Nikolai felt just in taking the control back – even if fictitious.

He lifted head and met Fyodor’s stare; guarded and cold opposed to his perfervid one. Heart dictates madness, roots inside lungs begged for closeness which would end up bringing about only more ache. Nikolai knew what had to be done. “One”

Apparently that was enough for Fyodor to get the message and decide he’s better off not chancing it. By the three he was at the door. Fyodor withdrew without a word, leaving him with piles of hurdles and a hole in his soul no kiss would ever fill. Affections might, miraculously, get reciprocated and damned flowers cured, but that hole would remain, forevermore.

Rain poured the entire night; didn’t remotely tranquilize. It took Nikolai couple hours to simmer down, leastwise stop shaking; chest kept on squeezing, nothing to do with malady. Fyodor’s proposal hung over head like the executioner’s blade. Principles revolted at the bare idea of conceding, mind was tickled by the possibilities. Desire wasn’t based in soundness, he didn’t wish for a remedy, just more poison. Truth is, deep within, he actually wanted to live – to prove he can break from the cage of his mind. Liberty cannot be found in submission to Fyodor’s guileful ruses, if he wanted to prove strength of the free will he had to resist the sweet temptation by any means possible – and if that connotes demise so be it, leastways he’ll be exempted.

In the end self-soothing couldn’t mend – like the greatest poltroon he ended up finding comfort in the bottle. Escapism is fool’s errand, man can never truly escape himself, but for the little while it wasn’t an indulgence but a necessity. Otherwise what little of him is still intact would fall apart. If craving a moment of concord when he’s not at the war with the quicksilver mind is such great sin, then may the God forsake him once more. Heaven knows his rotten soul would be judged very soon.

- - - - - - -

Given how out of hand his condition got it was only matter of time Sigma figures out as well. Risibly, rapid cough occasioned another disclosure. This time around sick heart brought to knees; thankfully not before Fyodor. Wheezing and heaving Nikolai clasped chest and coughed flower after flower out, no warning whatsoever, He must have painted a quite grisly scene but nothing could be done in that regard, leastwise it was a splendid show – just like Fyodor said, a beautiful tragedy.

From the corner of eye he made out Sigma’s shock. “Gogol you…”, tactile pity in his voice rubbed Nikolai the wrong way; purple but blood-stained flowers slipping between fingers and divulging vulnerability fanned the flames. Alas, sporting ire would signal how much the disease got to him on the psychological level, thence perpetuating the rawness.

It’s safer to put on a show. Surely wouldn’t fool Fyodor’s eyes but might Sigma’s. Nikolai rose to feet like nothing happened. “I got another one!”, threw hands in the air and chirped with a plastic beam; nevermind blood trickling down fingers. Oppressive flowery odor couldn’t be repudiated but Nikolai was dead-set on pulling Sigma’s mind out by distorting common sense. “Tricked, weren’t you?”

Sigma flinched, confusion coloring features; promising. Nikolai took it as a cue to continue convincing he hasn’t seen what he clearly did. “Oh how ridiculous would it be for free bird like myself to suffer a brainwashing called love, unrequited one to the boot!”, he clasped hands and warbled with a smile full of teeth, subtly warned Sigma against rechecking perception and opposing anyhow.

However before Nikolai had an opportunity to push on with the chicanery and seal the deal Sigma cut him off. “You’re lying”, voice was heavier than Nikolai could have anticipated. Either he lost his touch, courtesy of manacling flowers, or Sigma grew a pack overnight. “I know what I saw, those flowers had rotten flesh on them”, it sounded like accusation but anxiety adorning tone suggested otherwise; it was an observation based in concern.

Quite sharp, if he may. Nikolai narrowed eyes but kept silent, gears in mind slowly turning. Rather than pushing a clearly cursory show he took a moment to reflect. Why he felt the need to lie, perhaps that’s the best question. Sigma isn’t like Fyodor, through of weaponizing affections wouldn’t cross mind; not to mention he couldn’t weaponize it in same intimate ways Fyodor can, courtesy of marbles and role in this lunacy. Scratch the idea it’s out of self-preservation. Maybe dishonor? No, it didn’t feel right.

Sigma’s inhale captured attention, warned against drifting off. “I’m sorry it’s gotten that bad for you…”, he susurrated deplorably, half-lidded heavy eyes alluding anguish was cordial, not simulated like with Fyodor.

Fugitive thought penetrated mind. How easier things would be if he developed feelings for Sigma instead. Even if they’re unmet Sigma would never make a game out of his unfortunate affections; even if he got the flowers they’d be more benign, not Wolf’s bane poisoning gradually. Alas, God had a path for him and it’s thorny and rocky, vowing blood – for those reasons only a devil can move his heart.

Another sigh. Sigma twitched, clearly nervous about what he contemplated inquiring. “But I also…”

“Couldn’t have envisioned me falling in love?”, Nikolai finished for him. At first he wanted to proceed with play-acting, but realized it’d be a mockery of Sigma’s sympathy. After getting a spoonful of how bad mockery of the heartfelt can sting Nikolai wasn’t keen on the idea of extending the experience. “Truth to be told, I couldn’t either”, so he professed with a rueful smile.

Gleam in Sigma’s eyes additionally softened. “Dare I ask who is it?”, he ejected without too much of a thought, thence void of an ulterior motive. Nevertheless alarm went off; perhaps unmeritedly, perhaps as a sixth sense, illness tampered with judgment so he didn’t feel assured in drawing a verdict.

Sigma knowing he’s harboring feelings for Fyodor wouldn’t change much, but it may add unnecessary complications he can’t predict at the current; better be safe than sorry, ergo he opted for omission in form of chaffing. “Now Sigma-kun, isn’t that a too bit arduous task for your normal kind?”, voice tellingly high, smile tellingly plastic. “After all, it can be anyone~”

Lies. It can’t be just anyone. Disease wouldn’t spread this rapidly if heart were used to loving madly. Only one capable of seeing past the smoke and mirrors had the potential to coax into stepping over all values to embrace genuine madness. Being seen rather than just looked at came at the price. Same fingers that can curl around heart held the power to crush it – and that’s exactly the type of person he was destined to fall for, as a punishment for abandoning reason.

“You’re wrong”, Sigma disputed with confidence unfitting his kind. So he caught on a white lie, interesting. Curiously got the best of him, Nikolai didn’t interrupt this once, thus Sigma carried on. “It can’t be just a random someone. You wouldn’t fall this bad”, he reasoned in one breath, topic clearly getting to him; perhaps he dreaded the similar fate, thence kept everyone at arm’s length. “Someone must have moved you greatly to…”

Voice trailed off as realization tacitly dawned. Lowering head Sigma fell silent once again, just this time silence stung; it was so heavy and oppressive bare air smothered. It would be pointed to probe, in his heart Nikolai knew Sigma came to the right conclusion. Face went deadly pale, apt solemnity for the gravity of the matter. “I’m sorry…”

It was Nikolai’s turn to lower. “Why are you apologizing to me Sigma-kun?”, he smiled sadly, echoing a fraction of Sigma’s blues without falling into temptation of self-pity; if he slips into that bottomless hole he’ll never crawl out of. “I wasn’t under impression you’ve like me enough to extend sympathy”, as a compensation Nikolai quipped to deflect anything perceived as too personal – as a threat.

Jab earned him a sour look; good, back to the familiar script. However Sigma, uncannily mirroring Fyodor, got better at disclosing his tricks. “Admittedly I don’t”, Sigma sighed. “But that fate…”, voice petered out, heaviness combined with solemn look bespoke what’s to follow.

Selfishly, void of any reason, Nikolai wished those words to remain unuttered, just so he can dream a dream a little longer. Of course God never went easy on him. Of course Sigma lifted head and finished.

“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone”

- - - - - - -

At this rate he’ll be at heaven’s gate in couple days.

Symptoms didn’t improve an ounce. If anything with each passing day Nikolai felt closer to the liberty only death’s cold embrace can provide. Lamentably he had to forgo the secretary undercover job, condition worsened that much he couldn’t retain equanimity. Nikolai gave Fyodor no explanation for the absence, perhaps out of spite. Nor he needed to make vocalize a thing, Fyodor certainly figured what radio silence means. Disease has entered the final stage. Not to sugarcoat it, he has weeks left at best. Unless he takes Fyodor’s heartless offer he’s done for – both fates are tempting in their own ways, but only one spared from a hypocrite label.

If he pushed fingers deep enough down throat Nikolai could graze over a branch. Give it days and it would reach throat and tongue, rendering eating next to impossible. From there on he’ll have to rely on a feeding tube or IV, which would be a hassle considering his criminal status. Even if that’s taken care of Hanahaki would still kill. Lungs are already filled with flowers and thorns, not to mention the toxic gases. No matter from which angle Nikolai observed it end is just around the corner, only undecided are the details on a medical record. Still, death would deliver from a delirium where dawn never arrives, woefully no longer just figuratively. He couldn’t calm the fever down for days, triggering a dopey idea one after another. In the peak of the craze he’d be overtaken by the need to yield – to betray everything he ever stood for just to attain couple months more inside a cage. Oh quell the mere idea of such delirium, he’d rather die like a dog.

Just as Nikolai wrote himself off as a goner one morning he stirred in a marginally better shape. He seized the miracle improvement, or should he say false hope, to go out for the walk in the woods. By all indications it’ll be his last, thus he wanted to retain an illusion of freedom. Spring has long arrived, thence forest was bubbling with life. On the paper scenery was breath-taking, in reality peeving. Stricken heart sapped him of life, shoved into a vapid state of anhedonia where world is deprived of emotional richness. Everything that never vexed before now rubbed salt to the injury – especially the purple flowers. He caught a sight of them everywhere, like God planted them with sole intention of setting him off by reminding of the prison inside rib-cage. He’s no botanist, thence couldn’t tell if they’re subspecies of Wolf’s bane or some other altogether. Nonetheless they reminded of those eyes he couldn’t steer clear of. For the longest time they’ve haunted inside mind, now projected into reality.

He couldn’t get Fyodor out – not out of rib-cage, not out of mind-cage. Nikolai tried for so long, but nothing worked. Pressed into the corner he’s left with no option but to take the problem head on. Battle would end in an utter defeat, this frail and undone he can’t confront Fyodor properly, however that’s not the point – alleviating the burdened soul is.

- - - - - - -

“I love you”

Fyodor lowered book into lap, arched a brow and shot him a look of uttermost bewilderment – not because he didn’t know, certainly did, but because he hasn’t seen the forthright confession coming. Crumb of notional power fed, like a starved man stumbling upon a feast. After disease deprived of all autonomy a single grain was enough to vivify.

Nikolai traipsed forwards. “Speechless, aren’t you Dos-kun?”, bent in a theatrical fashion and sneered. “Quite rare sight I must say, I like it~”, he quipped but that part wasn’t a fib, marvel splendidly bejeweled Fyodor’s features. Too bad he won’t have a chance to behold it ever again.

As expected Fyodor wasn’t duped by the spectacle. Give him a second and he regained equanimity. Sensing an ax to grind instantly pulled a face, “pray tell, what prompted this?”, and uttered somewhat indolently, perhaps as a veil for wry diversion. If so then it couldn’t be anything but a calculated ruse. You’re asking like you don’t know.

If roots didn’t scrape lungs and render mere breathing a grueling task he would have crackled. “Confession?”, instead Nikolai mirrored by playing oblivious. “Don’t tell me you forgot about my birthday, you wound me!”, staged a sulk and began lamenting melodramatically, in congruence with the fool’s day. Tale old as time, for the final stage it’s rather apposite the act is according to the threadbare script.

Violet eyes dimmed further; in accordance petals tickled windpipe, beat a shallow cough, thankfully without blood or decaying flesh. Fyodor equably studied him, contemplating how to continue, signaling these few seconds are vital. Malady eroded guile, Nikolai was too sapped to utilize the pause and impact Fyodor’s viewpoints. “That fails to answer my question”

Just like you do, Nikolai chaffed internally. Didn’t dare to in reality, he’d rather forgo an out-front rejection pledging to break apart. If there’s a silver lining to the pestiferous flowers it’s the absence of ambiguity. Fyodor can’t mislead affections are reciprocated in order to sway when branches are extending rib-cage and lungs are stuffed with beautiful but deadly petals.

Even in the eleventh hour Nikolai couldn’t permit himself full disclosure. Staging a beam he sheepishly rubbed back of head. “Well, I was thinking if there’s any day I confess my feelings it’d be today”, closed eyes and cackled, omitting to reveal the full story; nerves aren’t easy to trick, hardwired guard cannot be bypassed on a whim. There’s a very good reason why he kept the mask on, even greater why shied from vulnerability in front of the puppeteer whom compassion is alien to.

Figuring his days are numbered he decided to let everything out. Least he can do is die without regrets, freed from all the burdens – or, at least, that’s what Nikolai wanted to believe. But perhaps, just perhaps, it was a last-ditch attempt to move Fyodor’s nonexistent heart. By laying all cards facing up he demonstrated he’s not holding a single against the chest – everything is out open, Fyodor has no reason for retaining high guard and implicitly viewing him as a threat. Hope always dies last. The fact he still held onto hope Fyodor might come to feel something denoted he still has life in him. If being doltishly hopeful bespeaks humanity then he’s the direct antithesis of the demon-like man he’s trying to stir.

Life isn’t a fairytale, of course he’s not getting his happily ever after. Fyodor may have read between the lines but his heart wasn’t moved. Guarded eyes briefly skirted towards the screen. “Fool’s day huh”, hum suggested Fyodor checked the date. “That’s why you came”, no, just used the coincidence to his advantage. Ever since the early days Nikolai spun the joke around and insisted how his very existence is a joke – his younger self had no idea how right he was.

A breeze to doctor agitation with joviality; pretense came more naturally now than breathing. “Oh damn, my gag is ruined now!”, Nikolai piped and fell to knees as a part of the play; in reality heart was brought to knees. Closeness without love ached more than distance. Away he can dream, in Fyodor’s close proximity is forced with the bleak reality how little he means to this man – how slim are the chances of illness ever being cured.

As anticipated shoddy staging didn’t win him any favors. “You’re a fool Nikolai”, sighing and shaking head Fyodor raised and strode towards him.

“Fool to think that’d fool me”, he puffed, involuntarily deepening the wounds. Or maybe not so involuntarily, maybe he was aware of the effect implicit rejection had. Not that it mattered this far in, as Sigma said he’s doomed to a fate worse than death.

Nikolai lifted head and flashed a glaringly phony beam. “But I’m a jester, remember?”, chirped the same old song; malady sapped him of creativity, he couldn’t come up with a ruse that had a scintilla of potential to sweep rug under Fyodor’s feet. “April’s fool is my day”, quip sounded lousy to own diluted senses, Nikolai couldn’t imagine how pathetic he must look in Fyodor’s eyes.

Narrowed gaze confirmed the hunch – he’s being looked down, literally and metaphorically. “You’re a clown”, Fyodor corrected, disappointment tactile in nipping voice and a frown.

If it could Nikolai was certain heart would have broken by iciness of the pity glance alone. He had neither time for moping nor for figuring out the rejoinder. Crouching down beside him Fyodor grip chin and forced eye contact; even if he wanted to fight it Nikolai lacked the strength, numerous lost battles dissolved of willpower.

“Your mouth may lie but flowers do not. Don’t for a moment think that your sorry shape is any mystery to me. You’re at death bed and want to die without regrets, as a free man paradoxically dying death of a prisoner. That’s why you crawled here to state the obvious”, Fyodor murmured impassively, habitual smirk nowhere to be found; oh how easier it’d be if he veiled truth in ridicule.

This way each word felt like a stab directly to the heart. Each ought to bring about hatred, yet instilled deep sense of shame, as if he’s being judged by the very God. Bending head Nikolai went silent, silently acknowledged defeat. Fyodor effortlessly saw through him, for the one more time – the final time. Closing eyes and inhaling, regardless of the lungs burning, Nikolai fathomed this is the end. After this trouncing he had no drive left, will likely crawl to the nearest motel, lay down, go out like a light and never open eyes again. Despite the humiliation it’d depict a tranquil end to his tale.

Of course Fyodor deemed he’s unworthy of peace, even in death. “But I can’t have that”, tittering he forced his chin up again, so they were eye to eye – Fyodor’s gleaming with assurance, his with unshed tears. Then chuckled and hushed what Nikolai both wanted and dreaded hearing the most. “I need you”

“To your misfortune not in same way you need me”

I know that. I’ve always known that, deep down. But why must you dash my hope? Why must you… it’s hopeless. He, who could never understand what makes Fyodor tick, consequentially him at core, cannot possibly earn his sincere affections. Ergo had own mocked, relentlessly, as Fyodor could only mentally encompass his folly, never emotionally. Still, for this one he ought to detest Fyodor to the very bone, but funneled the rage towards himself. For the longest time he’s been a subject of hatred, sizzling with wrath and assurance in his falsity, now felt the the other side of the blade. Disgrace wore him down, stripped of masks and left bare in the cold. Warmth offered is a trick he had no option but to submit to. It’s on borrowed time, pledging to vanish just as lonely heart gets used to company.

Fingers combed through hair, rubbed under the scarred eye; consoled with false comfort, sowing hope promising to guide downhill. “It’s your birthday”, shine in Fyodor’s eyes signaled he’s up to no good. “I suppose I owe you a gift”, soft hush signaled ceding would set a benchmark he’d have to move heaven and earth to subvert.

Not stalling a second longer Fyodor sealed lips over his. Nikolai gasped but didn’t have it in him to fight it – not for the flowers, not for the deprived yearning. Closing eyes he yielded, allowed Fyodor to sap him of illness – of life. His lips were chapped and cold, however couldn’t be sweeter. He tasted exactly like those deadly flowers.

- - - - - - -

Heart overruled mind. In spite of every proclaim how he must not give in that’s exactly what he ended up doing. Despite all Nikolai’s best efforts to resist Fyodor’s touch and warmth dazzled. He ended up melting into the kiss; even cupping back of Fyodor’s head and bring him back in when he wanted to pull away. They made out for half an hour, parted only when lack of oxygen forced to. Normally he’s not hampered by such pestering limitations, however Hanahaki reduced lungs’ capacity to nonexistent. Fyodor warned him against overdoing it unless he plans to see the maker right away. He proposed they meet twice a week, first to exchange information, then affections. Drained by sickness of both heart and body Nikolai begrudgingly gave in – far harder to resist now that he knew warmth of Fyodor’s lips.

Deal has been going smoothly for a month now; of course, with exclusion of bleeding dignity. From time to time Nikolai would catch himself reflecting how low he’s fallen, but he’d bethink himself of dazzling sweetness and uncertainty would wane. Whenever he kissed Fyodor illness tangibly dispersed. Nerves were duped gentleness carries iota sincerity; heart really believe it was loved. But mind, oh he can never let it dream – must not to, in order to retain the last thread of sanity. In that aspect it was rather curious how his feelings ended up a silent topic. Surprisingly Fyodor desisted from jabs; only a truly naif man would surmise it’s out of mindfulness. Nikolai mulled the conundrum over for quite some time and realized Fyodor has nothing to gain by keying him up. At the end of the day Fyodor isn’t a fool like him. If it’s for gain he’ll gladly kneel and bleed, ego suffering all but a major blow.

Either way, Nikolai couldn’t negate the improvement. Kisses are but a fragment of his weakness, yet healed like a charm. Case in point, chest no longer squeezed with every breath; thorns and branches no longer entwined around ribs. He still coughed but hardly blood and pieces of rotting flesh anymore. Strength and stamina have been revitalized, thoughts flowed smoother. Beyond a shadow of doubt he’s getting better – that’s where pros began and ended. By deferring to the proposal he agreed to tying life to Fyodor’s; wedding bands, except he’s the only one with cold shackle-like metal around the finger. He needs Fyodor in ways that cannot be more vital, Fyodor him in ways that cannot be more replaceable. Nikolai had to wonder what prompted him into sacrificing pride for the pawn. Is he that relevant to some scheme? Or are matter of more personal kinds? Would he be dopey to hold onto… ah, pointless to hedge. Yes, he will be dopey. At the end of the day it can always be simple curiosity on Fyodor’s part, thus he’s racking brains in vain.

Precedent he ceaselessly fought to belie was set in stone, never to be annulled. He ended up the very bird trapped inside a cage he vowed to never be, catered by the hand of another. If Fyodor were to vanish without a trace one day symptoms will return, likely severer than before. Once upon the time he might have been green enough to hope once dawn comes dust will never repeat. Pain mellowed, bullishness left with too many scars. Placing trust in Fyodor’s reputed altruism is downright ludicrous – it couldn’t all be due to his usefulness, Nikolai knew excruciatingly well there’s an ax to grind.

Fyodor suggested multiple times decision lays in his hands. Up until now Nikolai deemed it an insipid dig, however from time to time bethought himself of Fyodor’s inclination towards word games. Perhaps he hasn’t pried deep enough to fathom what’s underneath the surface; like a coward didn’t dare to. Worst of all is that even if Fyodor left some strings untouched he’s powerless to shape own fate.

- - - - - - -

“That would be it for tonight”, Fyodor murmured while circling around the table, keeping an eye on them both like a vulture; so leader-like, Nikolai kidded privately. “Any questions?”

Sigma answered with a frown, which translated into ‘can I just leave?’. So much for genuine interest in Fyodor’s machinations, Sigma is here only for personal gain. In all fairness he used to be too, even if his motives were far more intricate and far less comprehendible to a normal human being. Somewhere along the way he made a cardinal mistake of desiring crumbs of understanding, heart was seduced and now he’s here out of need, stripped of all self-esteem and accord.

Given Sigma, who’s aware of his predicament, is around Nikolai withheld from flirting or instigating affections. He wordlessly stood up and headed for the backdoor, planning to drop by later that evening, when they’re alone. The less eyes behold coercive rawness the safer.

Just as Nikolai was about to stride out of the room he was clasped by the forearm. “Nikolai”, voice too mellow for his heart. “Stay”

Just where do you think I can go? Illness chained me to you.

Rather than following Nikolai halted in tracks, paralyzed by the petals withering under Fyodor’s touch. Sigma paused too, turned head around and shot him a pitiful look, portraying he got the gist of what’s going on behind the closed doors. Him simply being alive conveyed he struck some sort of a deal with Fyodor, stepping over stiff values just to stay alive. If Sigma looked at him with raw revolt Nikolai wouldn’t be right to echo; just bow head and wordlessly acknowledge he’s a hypocrite to put all hypocrites to shame.

Nothing of those sorts happened. With a sigh Sigma left, easing weight of shoulders. Nikolai waited until he was out of hearing range before swirling around and fronting. “I take it you got lonely without me here”, purred while sizing Fyodor up, courtesy all but on mind. “I’m moved you missed me so much Dos-kun”, he went on with the chaff, aware it cannot possibly be genuine. Fyodor doesn’t have it in him to miss a thing, much less dicey warmth of the another; isn’t a fool like him, but a sly chameleon that actually gets things done.

As expected chicanery ceased having an effect on Fyodor. Instead of keeping still now that he no longer needed to instill fright into Sigma’s bones he continued marching around the table, emphasizing the designated roles and power imbalance. Nikolai held his breath, partially hoping Hanahaki was still at its peak so he has an excuse why chest aches this much. “I take your high spirits as a sign illness has been declining”, Fyodor deflected and finally halted. “Good, keep it that way”, praised and hopped on the table right beside him.

Like a magnet Nikolai leaned over, subconsciously, denoting how intrinsic affections are. He didn’t notice he was standing between Fyodor’s spread legs until Fyodor dabbed fingertips up his chest. Palm rested right over where Wolf’s bane used to be; couple petals remained to this day but most died under synthetic affections. Withal, chest still squeezed and clenched like disease is still gnawing at the lung. Scent followed in shadow, rendered a simple fugitive moment of peace infeasible – God vowed to never bestow such gift upon him, sent his servant to ensure hampers never slacken.

“I can’t have you hampered by the flowers”, silky whisper got heart leaping, betraying what flowers did long ago. “I need you in your best shape”, Fyodor whispered and toyed with his braid, slowly pulling in. Or perhaps he paced closer on own accord, nerves duped by yearning, hard to tell.

Heart skipped a beat, gasp ghosted over Fyodor’s lips. Funny how after all this time he’s still like a lost child before this demon he’s desperate to view as a human. Alas, it’s in vain. Flowers may be over and done with but heart is still in fetters, still cowers when it storms; still grovel before this God-like human. Profundity of the affect betokened liberty he’s been in the search of is chimerical. If heart is in bonds psyche, which cannot overrule it, cannot possibly be delivered. Whispers of the illness still plagued and vowed to forevermore, as long as he has it in him to love own avatar of own destruction.

Nikolai closed eyes and exhaled. “You’re speaking like decision is…”

“Yours to make?”, Fyodor filled in with sly curve of lips. “You’re saying it’s not?”, patted fingers over jawline and riled up with featheriness alone. “Or you can’t admit to yourself you’ve never given healing a try?”

It wasn’t a jape per se, not hushed this huskily and with sultry gleam in eyes. All the worse, it was an insinuation dyed in tantalizing hues which struck right in the core – heated up and spurred into action – because he couldn’t stay inert with turmoil within self. Nikolai cupped back of Fyodor’s head and smashed their lips together, to shut him up. Wining an squabble against his silver tongue is a daydream – least and best he can do is prevent Fyodor’s arrow-like scrutinies from meddling any further.

Rapid gasps and hands pushing against shoulders suggested Fyodor was taken off guard; good, this fictitious power is exactly what he’s after. With each struggle Nikolai got more wired up. Drunk on the falsehood of control he clasped Fyodor’s waist and kissed with more fervency, just to overpower and make him feel subjugated, to take reprisals. Bootless efforts, Fyodor can never feel trapped in a way that stays with him, not in the way that makes a difference, that introduces color to the monochromatic life. Instead of fetid flowers Fyodor’s slick words hounded in the back of mind. Decision was his to make. Instead of moving off and parading he’s above falling into such flagrant traps he did this. Insult to concept of liberty, hampers are a proper castigation for this inordinate hypocrisy.

With a stifled moan Fyodor melted into the kiss; circled arms around his frame, tipped head for the better angle and drew into friskier contact. Closest to the victory he managed so far, if it didn’t feel hollow Nikolai would have smiled.

- - - - - - -

No better than sorry souls with pollen allergies Nikolai avoided parks and streets full of greenery. Traditionally a fan of nature, paramount embodier of freedom, over the past few months fresh air and flowery fragrance harried that much he came to avoid it. Staying locked indoors isn’t an option either, just reinforces sense of thralldom. Thereby he settled on transportation – being on foot conjures an illusion of liberty.

That’s how Nikolai found himself in Tokyo’s subway, changing train one after another without a real aim. Usually he’d maunder around the city in a showy get-up with more than a dozen magic tricks in store but forgone attracting attention. For once Nikolai wished to blend in with the crowd, just to attain some resemblance of peace of mind. Woman to his left coughed, captured attention and instantly rendering aspiration hopeless.

Neatly swept dark hair, formal wear neither too fancy becoming the upper class nor too tatty denoting the lower, facial features suggesting woman’s beauty in the prime of her life – amid the countless nameless faces nothing about her merited attention – nothing but the bedeviling blooming scent. After being subjected to Hanahaki for months Nikolai picked it out with ease; always tickled nose, always beset in the back of mind.

Woman noticed his stare, arched a brow. Not the one to be bound or directed by the social norms, however this once Nikolai felt like eschewing incivility. “My condolences ma'am”, so he murmured with an apologetic look. She shot another puzzled look which prompted Nikolai to clarify. “I recognize the smell, since…”, he tapped own nose, then throat, not feeling like finishing the thought.

Nor had to. Realization flashed across woman’s features. “You suffer from flowers too”, she exhaled, waited for him to nod and confirm before mellowing expression, clasping hands and adding softer. “Oh pitiful boy”

Nikolai closed eyes and offered a mannerly smile; supposed in the eyes of an older woman he’s still a boy. He let an ounce of sorrow show, befitting the topic, and carried on. “Unrequited love can be quite burdensome”, I know that the best. “I wish you luck in getting together with that person”

Rather than mirroring his dolor woman just smile, like she’s see this coming. “That’s where you’re mistaken young man”, she chuckled. “We are already together. Have been happily married for twenty seven years now”

Nikolai definitely hasn’t seen that answer coming – admission made heart skip a beat, but not for the unexpectedness. Resemblance was, in his besotted mind that could think of only one person, uncanny. Woman lowered head, dejection traceable in sullen eyes, and mumbled languidly. “But I guess spark wore off. Everything has to die sometime”

Except my madness, Nikolai kidded privately. “I guess so”, I hope so. Futile, those feelings of his have far deeper roots than he can imagine. He may die but they’ll never – even in death he won’t be delivered from the vines of sin of longing.

Nonetheless he sensed a spark – a first thread of connection. Brief encounters where souls graze sustain more than one can envision; melt away a one of many layers of ice and warm heart up for an ephemeral moment. From time to time he’d feel close to the nameless soul, but never for long enough for the spark to gain a tactile form. “What are you going to do?”, Nikolai asked, partially out of courtesy, partially genuine curiosity.

Woman’s smile bordered more. “Nothing”, she crossed arms, leaned into the backrest and stated. Nikolai stared blankly, manifestly bemused. No, it’s not her decision that blew away but the confidence she proclaimed that with. “I will wait for love to die and leave for good. I have more self-respect than to rot away for anyone, even if it’s my husband”

Just like that flame went out, like it never existed. Nikolai barely bit back an impulse to burst out laughing. It was another in the line of bitter reminders he’s always been an off-scouring. It’s hopeless for one whose soul is a labyrinthian hideous jumble to look for the bids for connection amid the crowd of normals. Ultimately he’ll end up ostracized, be in implicitly or explicitly, for he’d realize minds this simple and superficial can never wrap around his mercurial. Only apt he sought company among the crazies as that’s where he belongs, however felt disconnected even from the own sort. Except you.

If iota melancholy surfaced woman must have brushed it off on a grim topic. Therefore with a confident smile she went on. “But I will heal myself. Yes, I’ve decided I will heal myself. I still love my husband of course, but if his heart is no longer there our relationship will have to be water under the bridge. It’ll be a grueling process but I will manage. I will fall out of love and move on”

This resolve… was enviable. So much so that scorn instantly rouse from the back of throat, mimicking branches. By all soundness this is future he should be aspiring for, closest to the liberty he dreamed of – yet shrank from the mere speculation he might come to part from his madness. Perhaps it defined by this point, ergo parting from it is equivalent to losing himself. Nikolai came up with million petty reasons to detest this woman but couldn't negate the sizzling grotesque green motivation behind the every. She embodied the society that cast him away; the normals he could never fit in with. Envy was overwhelming, alongside repugnance. He, with liberated mind, should not dream of the cage – so he loathed the cozy imprisoned birds for making him feel this conflicted way.

Most normals, bored with their enviably simple life, dream of extraordinary heights trusting sky is bluer there. Normal man can have only normal problems. Once you open your mind anything and everything comes in, sapping you of energy and destined to a waste of potential. Openness entails babel, soaring above the ground eternal parting. Worst thing that can happen to the blissfully unaware caged bird is to become aware of the bars – there’s no way back into the blissful ignorance. Knowledge itself has the power to drive one up the wall but never push over the edge of sanity. He can be insane only in a way fool is destined to the folly, dazzled by the principles that ultimately amount to nothing he’ll continue working against own interest. That’s why he both ridiculed and envied a normal man, one that can change skins like a snake rather than just a facial mask; wished he could break his wings, but there’s nothing left to cripple.

Once upon the time Nikolai dreamed of becoming an ordinary man, unoccupied by wonders of the world and ethereal dilemmas – deemed that’s where true freedom dwells. As years passed by he decided to adopt the mask of insanity instead, but found himself too sane to possibly part from morality and sentient; yet too insane to be sane. Always on the fence, always the black sheep, always the unchosen one. Except by you, but I’m not callow enough to not sense time ticking out.

- - - - - - -

Few and far between were nights when they met in Fyodor’s hotel room, under guise of the night. In the back of mind Nikolai knew there’s a catch but before he had an opportunity to delve into the enigma got vanquished by nocuous affections. Fyodor’s lips expunged much more than roots and flowers, they sapped him of coherence and autonomy, of power to decide for himself, unhindered by the engulfing influence of the afflicted heart. Ghastly thought for sure, but death would be a clemency compared to this graduate decay. Effect won’t be apparent until too late. Au fond Nikolai knew that moment is nearing, but couldn’t do a thing to mend grim fate set in motion.

Nikolai caught a glimpse of a vase with flowers in peripherality vision, hauntingly violet; maybe hotel’s décor, maybe Fyodor’s cruelty. Either senses dulled, courtesy of the Hanahaki, or fragrance of flowers got so familiar nose no longer distinguished it; again, courtesy of the disease. Either way, an irrefutable writing on the wall, except he was too bedazzled to pull a brake before driving off the cliff.

Back of Fyodor’s knees hit the bed. With a nudge he let himself fall onto mattress, dragging him down in process. Gasps melted into contact, Fyodor’s body never felt lighter under his. For those reasons Nikolai caught himself on elbows; tangled fingers through his hair and kissed as gently as possible. Not out of consideration, quell the mere idea this person is deserving iota, but so affections don’t consume. Fraction of control, even if notional, had to be retained when in this person’s vicinity, otherwise he’s drift away – correction, would end up being drifted away by the siren’s song.

Caution paid off. Fyodor’s limbs encircled him and snapped out of lustful daze. Mimicry of reciprocation was a slap to the face. Nikolai preferred it when Fyodor kept hands to himself and yielded without too much eagerness – only that way he was sure Fyodor is honest. Lie to me about anything, about everything. Just don’t lie to me you want this. Oh if only he had the guts to spit those words in Fyodor’s face, dishonor wouldn’t gnaw this much. He wouldn’t feel like he betray himself, for a couple months more of life of a caged bird.

Summoning tremendous willpower Nikolai pulled away, panted scant inches away from Fyodor’s face. Saliva tangled between lips, heavy breaths merged and lured back into contact, yet for once Nikolai was dead-set on resisting – had to, so affections don’t undo him once and for all.

Few seconds ticked by before Fyodor grasped lack of friction. As expected he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to?”, shot him a puzzled look meant to sway – would had if he were any more susceptible to the heart-sickness. It’s not that he didn’t want to, did oh so much, just knew better than to let lust daze. One needn’t be a genius to figure presence of an ulterior motive.

Eyes hardened. “No, I just rather you don’t force yourself”, Nikolai reasoned sternly, hoping Fyodor won’t dispute and set off. Making out is one thing, taking it to the whole new level quite another. Holding Fyodor now, only his body while soul isn’t within reach, would be the utmost mockery to every drop of blood coughed.

Fyodor pursed lips, likely ready to spill million fibs how he’s in the wrong; pull mind out and fill it in with fairytales. “Don’t lie to me Fyodor, I can tell something is off”, Nikolai insisted and glared hoping it’ll deter and push into reconsidering what he says next – not just due to danger, but an ounce of respect.

Ever since stepping foot into Fyodor’s hotel room, per his invite, Nikolai could sense something is slightly off. Perchance intuition, perchance drop of sagacity; nor distinction carried any weight at this point. When it comes to Fyodor he knew better than to discard intuition aside in favor of common sense – very thing Fyodor is notorious for exploiting. Therefore if he senses a mystifying disruption he’s to seize it by the horns, not look the other way.

“You’re sharp”, Fyodor sniggered and crawled away, effectively putting distance. He remained on the bed, knavish look replaced by a pensive almost tentative one. If it were on anyone else Nikolai would have proclaimed it dithering – as it was on Fyodor he could proclaim him only a proficient deceiver.

However before Nikolai had a chance to pry deeper Fyodor lower gaze sheepishly rubbed arms and susurrated. “For our last time I thought we could…”, voice tailed off but punch was already delivered. Fyodor wet throat and glanced to the side, gaze curiously tepid. Instead of elucidating and lifting weight of his chest Fyodor shook head and sighed. “But I guess never mind”

Stomach dropped. No, tell me. Million thoughts swamped mind at once, clenching heart didn’t allow a single to metamorphose into anything tactual. Deep inside Nikolai knew it would come to this, therefore letdown shouldn’t be this intense – this tactile he’s literally feeling heart breaking into pieces. Odd, by now Fyodor ought to have gotten him used to the feeling, yet each ached like the very first. Flowers, materialization of brainwashing affections, didn’t suffocate nearly as much as these words did, but will once disease returns to do him in for good. Unwittingly eyes roamed back to the flowers. Blinking to brush surging tears away Nikolai prayed them to divulge ploys Fyodor never will. Alas, eyes just kept on stinging without a single tear sliding, emotional cleansing not reserved for transgression of falling for the epitome of chains he came to revere.

Heart got stuck in throat. “Why?” is all Nikolai managed to utter, voice indicatively small. “Why the last?”, must have painted a hapless scene, certainly mockery-worthy in Fyodor’s eyes, but couldn’t help it, battered heart brought him down on knees once again.

Understandably his misery was no enigma to Fyodor, just like where absence of affections will lead; of course he knew what troubles plagued mind. “Don’t look at me like that”, Fyodor addressed him with a wry look, barely concealing scoff. “It’s nothing of those kinds”, then begrudgingly consoled. “I’ll be arrested in the following days”

Now that piqued interest – in retrospect made him feel like a fool for blowing things out of proportion before attaining more information. Fortunately Fyodor forwent teasing, took his bemusement as a sign to detail. He’s the type of person that talks a lot but says a little. Despite going on miles Fyodor didn’t disclose a thing Nikolai could utilize, much less hold against him. Apparently part of his plan involved getting apprehended and pulling strings from the shadows, safe in the most secure prison on the world; quite cunning, if Nikolai may.

Up until now he believed Fyodor needed detailed layout to break out some rat of his, not even in his wildest dreams could have surmised Fyodor is about to get locked up himself – about to impose analogous thralldom on own person. As tempting as it was to proclaim it equivalent Nikolai had to acknowledge their captivity varies in the paramount aspects. For Fyodor there’s always a way out, so he’s peaceful at heart; for him never, so he’s never. Either way, it was another in the line of stupefactions, another attestation to the unbridgeable distance.

Nikolai listened to the every word with utmost concentration, psyched up like hardly ever before – worried if attentions wanes for a heartbeat something pivotal might fly over his head. “Considering you had me go great lengths to obtain information on the interior of the Meursault jail I take it you’re plotting an escape”

Fyodor angled head. “Naturally”, flashed a haughty smile that tended to exasperate but now chuffed; absurd twist of fate, once more God is laughing at him.

Still, it was a relief. Now only quandary left is how long Fyodor would remain incarcerated – how long they’ll be separated. Nikolai doubted few months would be enough for Hanahaki to return in form that severe he’s on the death bed. Separation is far cry from mindful, but again, neither of them are notable for altruism and solicitude. Absurd to hope Fyodor would take their little deal into consideration when coining ploys, therefore Nikolai didn’t feel he has a room for complaining. But he couldn’t gloss over the elephant in the room either – Fyodor told him. He could have easily vanished without a trace, abruptly throwing him into the state of panic how he’s to scrape by. But no, Fyodor told him.

If Nikolai had any faith left he would have placed it in the future – that this littleness is but a littleness. But he didn’t dare hope, not after everything. Chest tightened, heart started pulsating that fervently it was audible, back of throat tickled like he had petals left to cough out – own body caught him in a lie. Like a fool that hasn’t been fooled too many times to count he still held onto hope Fyodor might return to him, not as a grandmaster but a lover. After all this time I still…

Gulping slowly Nikolai wet throat. “Can I…”, began too gingerly, guaranteeing a scoff, even if just privately. He paused, took in a deep breath, gathered resolve to combat hammering heart and looked Fyodor straight in the eye.

“Can I take that to assume we’ll meet again?”

Meek smile was his only reply; given it reached the eyes Nikolai took it as a yes. Colossal weight lifted of shoulders, for an ephemeral second he felt like he could breath a little lighter.

- - - - - - -

Fyodor ended up caught, just like he planned. Nikolai spared himself sleepless night and headaches by skipping on delving deeper into why’s and wherefore’s – not behind the machinations, but behind Fyodor letting him on them ahead of time. Maybe it was a rare act of consideration, maybe just calculated lullabying so bad blood doesn’t thwart and Fyodor has easier time utilizing once he breaks out of Meursault. Or maybe Fyodor wanted to ensure he doesn’t do own research, track him down and break in the Meursault, effectively spoiling his scheme. That speculation was especially riveting, with a grin Nikolai stored it in the back of psyche. It was a breath of fresh air to possess a back-up plan.

Two weeks passed by and flowers are yet to return. Nikolai reasoned remnants of affections still floated through system, thus prevented symptoms from surfacing. The more days roll by the higher chances flowers will come back to haunt, and put into grave. Every cough and heaviness in chest implanted tremendous amount of dread – confined with the very presence of interminable anxiety.

In two weeks he’s expected to die. Once upon the time he embraced the idea of finding utmost freedom in death with open arms, now it left sour taste on tongue. No, he can’t possibly leave this world with unfinished business. They’ll still tie to the corporal realm, hounding in afterlife. Death wouldn’t be a remedy – not to the flowers, not to Fyodor – but a cowardly escape.

- - - - - - -

Tomorrow is the day. He’s to kidnap couple government officials and lure Agency into the trap, just like Fyodor envisioned. If sticking to the plan he’ll saw himself in half by the end of the show, erasing the identity of the real culprit and leaving no evidence Agency can utilize behind. His chef-d'oeuvre, deemed once up the time – goes without saying Nikolai had no intentions of ending things.

Last fortnight was spent in a haze. Nikolai spent endless hours tossing and turning, driving himself mad. Understandably he achieved no clarity, only fever-like delirium. Ultimately he arrived only to a one conclusion – Fyodor is not to be let go. That’s the easy part. Figuring out what to do with Fyodor, and consequentially own sordid feelings for him – not so much.

With information he scooped for Fyodor while working undercover and aid of the Overcoat it’ll be a no sweat to break into even the most heavily guarded prison on earth. To the role of a knight in shining armor he’ll never concede, nor to the one of an executioner, Fyodor isn’t deserving a quick merciful end. Thousands kilometers of distance did wonders, without Fyodor by his side to sordid lead astray he could finally think clearly. During previous couple months he’s been utterly dishonorably stripped of all the power. At first own body and heart sapped of autonomy, then Fyodor chimed in to rub salt into the wound and remind he’s the prisoner of everything he detested the most.

That alone ought to turn love into hate, and truth to be told Nikolai had hard time mentally encompassing own heart. Without flowers as an acid test he’s lost at the sea, left without a way of prying into the own heart and figuring what he actually wants. It’d be easy to state he just wants Fyodor to return his feelings, but inexact. For the longest time Nikolai conjectured he wants to break free of all the ethics and whims, the very act of longing – benchmark humanity. Following that logic he ought to want flowers, palpable externalization of his feelings, gone, but upon weighting the idea Nikolai found it doesn’t sit right. Like a moth to the flame he was drew back into the same old disarray, where only axiom is that he’s destined to find himself at the same old crossroad.

Confusion pledged to shadow with every step, regardless which direction. Case in point, he never solved the riddle that is Fyodor’s ability. He snooped around a little and couldn’t get that information anywhere, meaning two things: either Fyodor faked he has one in the first place or it’s something truly extraordinary and formidable, perchance eclipsing even his. Nikolai had qualms it’s the former, courtesy of Fyodor activating the ability via touch and killing the officer on the spot. Ergo it’d be logical to deduce ability must be triggered by contact and had power to kill – but therein lays the issue, he’d be getting ahead of himself. Fyodor is notorious for perverting common sense and exploiting the resulting fog, thence it might as well be a red herring. On the flip side Fyodor might have trusted he’d arrive to that verdict, so he laid all cards facing up in order to baffle.

Not to mention he never thoroughly puzzled out why Fyodor was so adamant on saving him. Sure, he laid the card up that he’s too useful to die because of witless love-sickness, but he’d be even more witless to trust that’s all. As always Fyodor has dozen axes to grind, surface one of his versatility is but a facet. There is more to the gambit than it met the eye, however Nikolai couldn’t allow blindness of optimism. If Fyodor harbored iota affections for him illness wouldn’t have developed in the first place, drawing the curtains on all what-if’s. But should reciprocation be his main aim? Or would it spark off a ruin he cannot mentally encompass for its vastitude? Once more – a riddle void of clearcut answer.

One thing is for certain: he cannot leave things as they are now. Only by standing up to Fyodor and challenging him Nikolai can possibly tickle his mind and make a difference, be if for better or worse. You’re speaking like decision isn’t yours to make. Fyodor may be a serpent meriting more wariness than the deadly flowers, but Nikolai wanted to believe those words. If it all goes to hell at very least let him be both the executed and the executioner.

- - - - - - -

Everything was unfolding according to the plan. Nikolai couldn’t shake off the gut feeling things are seconds away from going awry.

It was easy to determine the right moment to snatch Sigma. By betraying him Fyodor paved a path for him into Sigma’s heart. It was just as easy to sell the story they both need Fyodor dead to be free; thankfully Sigma didn’t spend enough time around him to grasp he’s neither showing symptoms nor stenching of flowers. Thanks to shrewdness Nikolai easily gulled Sigma and stuffed into the Overcoat, then made his way to Meursault, also slipping in with ease. Analogously it was a breeze to cut the floor and get even an ability-nullifier out, all thanks to guile and deftness.

Then he laid eyes on Fyodor after more than a month and things ceased being so easy.

First thing first, he was overcome with an urge to touch, be it a firm clasp by the hips or casual brush in passing. In opposition to the cynically familiar engulfing longing Nikolai remained where he was, always keeping object of desire at the arm’s length. If they were alone Nikolai had no doubt he’d buckle under ferocity of knowing gaze, so it was a blessing in disguise he had an audience. With Sigma and Dazai present charade went fluidly. Flashing a beam full of teeth, hallmark blood-thirsty jester, Nikolai went on with the show. He fished a briefcase supposedly carrying poison out of the Overcoat. As anticipated neither Fyodor nor Dazai objected, despite being in the dark what they’re injecting into veins. Thrill of ascendancy got to Nikolai’s head, corroded the bars and fed the fallacy of freedom. In reality he’s always been in a cage. Fyodor insisted it’s been open all along, but he found that hard to believe – couldn’t accept it without falling to pieces.

Game was a scam. Sole point was to instill sense of powerlessness into Fyodor – to make him feel small and helpless, even if for a stolen moment. Perhaps spoonful of own medicine will mend, perhaps doom, tasking to tell. Status quo promised only pain, ergo he had to make the move. Still, Nikolai betrayed himself by offering an aid. Dazai chose Sigma, Fyodor did the exit card. It was… an expected choice, cold and calculated. Nevertheless logic did little to heal the wound. In his innermost heart he was holding breath Fyodor might place trust in him and ask for help – not because he can’t abscond without it, but to signify there’s an after. This way tension in chest had an eerie ring of familiarity.

Nikolai insensibly observed Dazai and Sigma leave, on the fence if to pray they walk faster or never actually leave. God never answers his prayers, always looked down on vice of unremitting fickleness. Door closed, clang echoed like the shrill of executioner’s blade. Looming sense of doom, ineluctable judgment finally arrived at the door. He was left alone with Fyodor – all he ever wanted, yet now found privacy suffocating. Life’s funny always. Nikolai closed eyes and braced himself for the upcoming ache. Because with Fyodor something must ache, always.

Much to his surprise Fyodor beat him up to it. He glanced up and murmured. “Has your disease worsened?”

Out of everything Fyodor could have asked… he certainly wasn’t expecting that. Nikolai blinked few times, mentally tossing and chewing words, trying to find the catch. None surfaced, except Fyodor assessing his potential as a pawn.

Leaning on the cane Nikolai swirled around and addressed him with a dry grin. “Spare me the fake consideration Dos-kun”, peeped glaringly shrill, glaringly phonily.

Amazingly it wasn’t mirrored. Fyodor retained a look of utmost impassivity, but it was cold as ice. Realization stung but Nikolai couldn’t allow himself to be deterred, thence pushed on. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with poison coursing through your veins?”, tipped chin and riled up. Considering he nearly bit the dust because of the love-sickness dying from blood poisoning would be an aptly poetic conclusion of Fyodor’s tale. Therefore Nikolai obtained one of the most potent poisons out there, just so Fyodor knows how it feels to be truly trapped by the own body.

Much to Nikolai’s dismay Fyodor was aware of what he wanted the least. “Should I be?”, buzzed and finally smiled; needless to say it sent shiver down Nikolai’s spine. Fyodor crossed legs, leaned cheek into palm and looked right at him – right through him. “As for the consideration, all I have to say is”

“Likewise”

Nikolai has seen the dig coming, thus braced himself on time. Otherwise fractured mask would have come to bits, very much like pounding heart threatened to. So Fyodor knows poison is a placebo, or at very least suspects it’s nowhere near as deadly as declared. In all candor he did plan on poisoning Fyodor, but resolve evaporated the second he broke Fyodor out of his cell. Fuzzy purple irises bewitched; took breath away, warmth tickled from the inside in same fashion petals used to – perhaps as an omen. Fickleness a hounding vice, Nikolai couldn’t make up his mind whether to listen to clenching heart or mind demanding deliverance. Things were unfolding too fast, he had no time to think. Heart overruled mind. Ultimately Nikolai opted for a milder poison that ought to cause mid fever and discomfort in the worst case. He proved nether existence of the free will nor that vines relented, quite the contrary – that man is destined to the shackles of the innate.

Either way, Fyodor might experience some undesired complications, courtesy of his ailing health. In that case he’d be stripped of self-sufficiency, only logical solution left is taking his hand. If roles were reversed he would have refused the offer out of principles, but that’s what separates a fool from a man. If it’s to ensure survival and schemes Fyodor would bend head and do what needs to be done while retaining facade of utmost control.

“Dos-kun…”, slow gulp, uncovered eye resting on floor rather than the object of his fateful desires. “It’s not too late to swap your present for the another one”, Nikolai put tremendous effort into coming off as nonchalant.

Instant reply indicated pretense must have been lousier than expected. “Hmm thank you”, Fyodor whirred with a courteous smile and his heart instantly sank – because in the heart of his hearts Nikolai knew this rejections set a precedent. “But I’m fine”

No, don’t give me platitude after everything. Don’t give me a false front, don’t imply this is the end. Despite himself Nikolai knitted brows; lowered head hoping eye patch and bangs mask most of rue, but knew at heart it’s futile. Dejection was tactual, flowers pried layers of soul one by one and laid it bare – of course Fyodor knew where despair sourced from. Coldness nipped more than flame of burning rage can ever scorch. He’d rather suffocate on poisonous flowers than on ash and embers of where love once used to be.

If Fyodor glowered or offered at least one cordial scorn, so he knows he penetrated the surface, Nikolai wouldn’t considered this game a complete failure. This way only thing left to do is beguile himself dominoes aren’t already tumbling, courtesy of his fickleness.

- - - - - - -

Fyodor came out victorious. Under thirty minutes to the boot, certainly impressive but not surprising; granted he was acquainted with the interior and all prison's secrets it’s be more surprising if Fyodor encountered difficulties. The second he emerged on the platform Nikolai put on a stage; not to pull wool over Fyodor’s eyes, just to cling to the last glimmer of amity.

Oddly jest wasn’t indulged, not even on a surface level. With a sulk Fyodor shot down all his gags, desperate bids for connection. So huffish, if stakes weren’t staggeringly high Nikolai would have found it endearing. Fyodor approached the helicopter without offering an ounce of intimacy. No flirts, no caresses to ensure disease is vanquished, nothing. Did Fyodor wrote him off now that he played his role or would he be foolish to search for less rational, more sentimental, explanation? Besotted heart latched onto the latter, mind complied null of volution. Fyodor seemed in the hurry to leave, which could be understandable. After all, this is the most rotten prison in the entire world, he’s in the right to be eager to embark, especially given he’s exhausted. Whilst that made perfect sense Nikolai couldn’t negate Fyodor felt colder, more distant than ever. Almost like something changed overnight, but too many pieces are missing for things to possibly add up.

It’s been nearly two months since they’ve last exchanged affections. Beyond him how Hanahaki hasn’t return yet. But if this is how apathetically Fyodor will treat him from now on those flowers would deliver from human miseries. Wish to get rid of the feelings is, by design, a wish, ergo binding. Au contraire, liberty cannot be attain in veneration of the cage, yielding isn’t an option either. Only by circumventing the conundrum, paramount attribute of humanity, he can be unbound.

Still, curiosity got the best of Nikolai. “Dos-kun, what happened to the Sigma-kun?”, he probed, hoping his other ruse yielded results. Lamentably that’s an enigma he, for all his shrewdness, couldn’t get to the bottom of. If Fyodor doesn’t want to talk he won’t, simple as that. Therefore Sigma’s ability came as a gift from above.

Inquiry piqued Fyodor’s interest. He glanced his way and smiled but it didn’t reach the eyes. “He was quite brave”, droned in velvety voice Nikolai knew far too well – spoke of ultimate triumph, ultimate defeat on his side. “And for that he’ll never open his eyes again”

So he came a cooper; nothing too beyond belief, albeit still disgruntling. Still, Nikolai knew better than to jump the gun. It was tempting to presume Sigma is dead but Fyodor doesn’t deal ambiguous lines for wits. Beyond any doubt there was more to it than it met the eye, before tailing Fyodor he’ll have to dart back into the prison to check on Sigma, in case there’s something left to salvage.

Nikolai darkened, mask swiftly crumbling. “Everyone who dares defy the infamous Dostoevsky is dealt with, hmm?”, he rumbled. Haughty smile was the only reply, bespoke more than enough. “And us?”, Nikolai ejected right away, hopefully and dreadfully. “What comes after this?”

Helicopter could have lifted off by now, but Fyodor respected him just enough to linger around a bit longer – either to sow false hope or reap all previously sowed. “You said so yourself”, Fyodor tittered and conveyed which it is. “You’ve tried to kill me, isn’t it apt I return the favor?”

No equivocating, point blank – this is the end.

This time disillusionment was so profound nerves benumbed in order to preserve. Polar opposite hot and cold waves washed over, neither lingering for more than a blink. He felt everything and nothing at the same time. Million thoughts flashed through mind and overflowed; render mind blank, breath strenuous. Chest squeezed harder than Hanahaki ever caused it to, connoting this is heartbreak he’ll never recover from. Stupefied and petrified Nikolai was painfully aware full scope of this affliction is yet to come – upon recalling warmth of Fyodor’s lips in the solitude of cold four walls he’d get to know the true meaning of loneliness.

Eyes slacked, lips collapsed into a sad smile no staginess could mend. “Lovely”, Nikolai got mouth moving, soul disassociating. This is his last chance, with nothing to lose save for last piece of dignity, he ought to run his mouth trying to earn a piece on the chessboard – if role of the equal king piece is out of reach. Under gravity of the shock Nikolai couldn’t move or think at all.

Wind kept on gusting, for once didn’t carry seductive floral scent, but one of embers. Certainly odd, perhaps another omen; or maybe roots and flowers were disintegrating inside lungs. Rather than being appeased Nikolai was bizarrely nettled by the possibility of parting from his torment – only tactile in the fog of confusion. One thing is for certain: he’ll be left to own devices and has only himself to blame for it. Whether Fyodor intended on taking him back in prior to the death game or this turndown was premeditated, Nikolai is afraid he’ll never know. Perhaps he ruined some artifice of Fyodor’s, thus the repercussions, perhaps proved himself to be a nuisance with inordinate volatility. Perhaps there was no profounder reason to it, perhaps he’s just of no use any longer. He’s sentenced to what haunted all along: lack of clarity.

He would have been in the wrong if he let Fyodor fly away. He would have been in the wrong if he rescued Fyodor. Now he ended up being in the wrong for opposing him. What should he had done? Or did it even matter? Decision has always been in your hands. Yet every led to the same outcome of the nipping loneliness. His soul was seen for the first and final time, but remained unwanted. Numerous rejections, yet none ached this much as persona was rejected, not the person behind the mask. Fyodor looked into his very core and decided he’s not worth the role of an equal. There’s no path that includes everyone’s happiness and that’s fine, Nikolai forsook own in favor of freedom. Oh only if he could claim he found it in misery, none of this would -

Deafening bang shattered the blues. Suddenly all Nikolai saw was red – not out of rage or any similar figurative kinds, but literally. Heat was next. Now that captured attention. Nikolai lifted head and… no. It can’t be. Concluding he must be dreaming he blinked couple times, praying the nightmare away. To no avail, grisly scene persisted. Vividness of the heat, oppositely biting coldness within him, suggested this is painfully real.

Helicopter erupted in flames.

- - - - - - -

“Congratulation Gogol”

Nikolai had no idea how long he stood in the place, frozen and numb. Dazai’s voice somewhat snapped him out of it, leastwise so he’s responsive. Approaching footsteps sparked off inborn caution, made him glance up. Gaze instantly locked onto severed arm in Dazai’s hand – Fyodor’s arm. Nikolai gulped, tried to ease tightness in the throat but fruitlessly. Catharsis is a long lost dream.

Fortunately Dazai retained enough soundness to refrain from taunting. “You’ve wanted to kill him, right?”, asked somewhat tiredly. Before Nikolai unsnarled tongue and found wounds Dazai passed him Fyodor’s arm.

Initial touch burned, despite skin being equally cold in life and death. If he closed eyes for a moment he could pretend they’re in a privacy of Fyodor’s lair, cuddling and petting; but no, he couldn’t allow escapism to coax into lunacy. He felt raw, like a newborn in mother’s arms. But there’s no one to nurture and lead onto the right path, nor anything will ever grow out of him. Last bit of potential for growth died with this person, taking the possibility of change into the grave. Oh if only scent of flowers remained…

Bereavement ought to bring tears, but eyes remained dry. Barely keeping back sniffs Nikolai began. “No, I…”, wanted to kill what I feel for him. “Yes, I…”, wanted to kill him so I can love him freely. Neither were wrong, nor correct. It was a mistake to divide world in absolutes, to hope once sun shines dusk will never come. Now all he wanted is just…

Sigh. Not to hedge, he did not know and exactly that fickleness resulted in this tragedy. In process of upholding principles regardless of the means he ended up blinded by the hot air, ultimately losing it all for sake of nothing. By wanting to get even he treated Fyodor like an enemy – when he retaliated Nikolai had no right to kvetch. In hindsight Fyodor was right to maintain he had a choice. There is always a choice. And his led to this outcome he can’t remedy no matter how badly he itched to.

In the face of death Nikolai realized just how insignificant all wishy-washy conundrums are, but way past the eleventh hour. Even if he learned a valuable lesson it’d still serve no purpose for broken heart can’t love this ardently. Death is an absolute, spares no one, under no circumstances. Rich or poor, healthy or ill, elderly or children – no one is absolved from it. Not even you, crafted in God’s image who I could never impact. For the longest time Nikolai deemed it a pinnacle of freedom, not that he got to experience it he could say it leaves behind only gnawing hollowness, gaping void in chest to eclipse the flowers forevermore.

Tightness in rib-cage didn’t diminish. If a single root remained in lungs Nikolai was sure it would have writhed now, leaving behind the embers echoing one of helicopter wreckage. It would have betokened a farewell, epilogue and hopefully beginning of a new chapter. Aptly he’s not allowed closure.

- - - - - - -

Something cold and wet melted on tip of nose. Sensation wasn't remarkable per se, but it was the first one physical body registered in quite some time. Next was the coldness, so nipping it pushed him to come to it faster. Blinking and squinting Sigma gradually opened eyes and discretely surveyed the surroundings. At first he believed he’s out in the open, courtesy of snow and fresh breeze, but realize he’s actually in a debilitated house. Now this is certainly odd, yet it’s not the scenery that sowed sense of dread – but a pair of eyes burning a hole through him.

They sent chills down spine. Wave of vertigo followed by nausea and headache cut mussing before it could had began – served as a visceral reminder how it came to this. Right, he read Fyodor’s memories, greedily and greenly asked for it all. Judging by how atrophied muscles felt Sigma concluded he must have spent quite some time unconscious. It was August when he fell into coma, now it’s clearly winter. Is it even the same year? How long has he been out? Just how many years has he taken in? Those are all questions he ought to have an answer for, but that’s where grim fate decided to meddle.

Rapid torrent of memories triggered an influx. He remembered everything and nothing. Some scenes were vivid enough to highlight a few details but never the structure – all that stayed was a feeling. Ultimately Sigma couldn't form a coherent flow of events, much less disclose a single secret of Fyodor’s. He failed not only Agency and Dazai but also himself. Perchance information will crystallize in following days, but even then he doubted he’ll be able to retell as little as one percent of what he’s seen. Even so, Sigma couldn't brush off the persisting sense of melancholy, of a gaping void caused by loneliness that never abates. It couldn’t be his, therefore must have been an undertone of Fyodor’s life.

Someone cleaned throat in the background, sent another shiver down spine. Undeterred by the dizziness Sigma craned neck and inspected. Shadow among the shadows – pair of mismatched eyes was watching him. If, for the thinnest moment Sigma sensed raptorial intentions he would have been fled. Their gazes met but no words were exchanged, nor needed to – lassitude that tactual spoke on its own.

Snow kept on falling, tickling skin with its lightness; kept on covering every sight of life and veiling world in mystery, bedazzling with its shine. Sight, for all its etherealness, left a sour taste in mouth. Sigma felt like he came a full circle, like he’s once more surrounded by the obscurities, submerged by confusion. Peculiarly he felt free, but freedom didn’t carry a pacifying undercurrent, rather an ambivalent aftertaste he couldn't enunciate – just knew it beset.

Something shiny caught eye. Sigma noticed a severed arm in some sort of a container, likely for preserving purposes. Macabre sight engaged his attention. “That’s…”

“All that’s left of him”, other person explained, alive just in name. Voice was thick and rasping, brimming with despair, however retained just enough dose of familiarity for Sigma to fathom what he should had from the start – this is Nikolai.

Comprehension was eerie; knocked air out of lungs. So this is how he looks bared of all masks. No, bared to the very skin, but even that wasn’t enough – insensate man before him is bared of all reason for living – hope sun will ever shine again. Sigma mentally parroted Nikolai’s words. Left of… ah, only one person, or should he say demon, can undo Nikolai this much. It had to be Fyodor.

If arm is severed and Nikolai is clutching to it this desperately then it can only mean one thing. Slowly but surely pieces fell together. It seems like Fyodor has died some time ago. Temple chose just that moment to throb, perhaps as a warning. Something about that statement didn’t sit right with Sigma, however he still lacked clarity to puzzle out what exactly; skipped on sowing doubt, it’d be too cruel.

Arm may have been preserved but man preserving certainly was not. Nikolai looked… not to mince words, he looked like he’s been through hell. Once neatly braid hair loosely hanging by sides, knotty and greasy, make-up forgone, exposing fatigue, chic stagy clothing replaced by shabby slacks and coat in need of cleaning – all in all, a shell of a man. And that’s not even mentioning the heavy lifeless eyes. Has he really meant that much to you, Sigma would have inquired, but recalled the flowers stained with flesh and blood. Not even Hanahaki wore him down this much, sight is just too grim.

Speaking of which, nothing testified to the Fyodor being gone as much as Nikolai being alive. In absence of feigned affections if flowers haven’t laid him to rest by now it must mean Fyodor is truly dead. Sigma contemplated if to press or just stand up and leave. Nikolai sighed and decided for him. “I suppose I should congratulate you Sigma-kun, you’re finally free”

Of Fyodor’s wires presumably. It ought to be a relief, and it was, howbeit seeing Nikolai like this warned against optimism. Nothing good comes out of underestimating Fyodor, for all they know he could be pulling strings from the grave. Best he can do is seize the golden chance and build the home he’s always longed for, away from the snakes. Sigma bethought himself of it and quickly realized he’s feeling lost, not knowing where to start without a hand to guide, even if artful. Too much freedom can drive a man mad, Sigma needn’t look further from his left to verify the bromide saying.

“… so are you”, he murmured before realizing ‘freedom’ is the last word that can be attributed to this hapless version of Nikolai. “Of the flowers I suppose”, Sigma cleared throat and corrected himself before Nikolai could.

No glower, no quip – lack of palpable threat encouraged further probing. Sigma looked Nikolai straight in the eye. “But you didn’t have them for some time now, did you?”, and asked what he normally would bypass. Lack of clarity never led anywhere good, so he’d rather they come clear.

Again, no instant reply but no disdain either; promising. Nikolai he knew would veil the answer in countless wrappings and ribbons to avoid forthrightness, all under guise of theatricality. No makeshift scrips, no histrionics, this broken shell lowered head and looked away from his eyes. “That’s true”, Nikolai admitted indolently, without any equivocalness. “I didn’t”

Sigma mirrored his melancholy. “Do you know why?”

Nikolai never lifted head, never replied. Silence answered in his stead. Snow didn’t stop falling. Flowers never bloomed again.

Notes:

Broke my own heart with this one

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