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Sunken eyes, bloodshot whites that tainted the amethyst irises, and a frail body—how long will it take for the Russian to die, due to neglect now? Nikolai's mind raced as he looked at Fyodor; his expression was concerned and worried for the man.
"Fedya..." He murmured lowly, his voice dripping with concern, staring at Fyodor who was clearly overworking himself.
"What is it, Kolya?" The other man responded, his eyes boring into the screen before him, showing no signs of stopping.
"When will you rest now? You've been working—" As much as Nikolai wanted to continue any further, Fyodor interrupted him.
"The world needs to be cleansed, and I'm willing to do it." He said, slowly turning his chair to face Nikolai—But that action only made Nikolai worry more. With deep eyebags and circles under his eyes, and more bloodshot eyes than usual; it really ticked him how much this man neglects himself.
"Fedya..." He muttered lowly; with a voice tender. Something Fyodor never really heard from anyone.
"Just rest," Nikolai added. That's all he needed to say to him; just three words, he hoped for him to obey for his welfare. But this man was more stubborn than you can ever think.
"Many people's lives can be changed if I—"
"No, just rest." He spoke, completely interrupting Fyodor's protest, before suddenly pulling him and embracing him—what a silly thing to do, isn't it?
But oh, how Nikolai loved the warmth of the other man's body, silently thanking Fyodor for letting him do this.
For Fyodor, meanwhile, hadn't expected this. But lost in the tender moment, he gave in; letting his hand run through the soft, snow-colored hair. His amethyst eyes slowly began to flutter closed, gradually succumbing to sleep—it was worth it anyway having a comfortable pillow to sleep on. Maybe, he'll have Nikolai as his personal pillow for now on.