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A beam of moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, lining the floor of the hallway. The walkway was dark, the natural light being the only thing steering him as Nikolai treaded down the hall. He walked aloofly, like he had no care in the world.
He was guided by something ahead, marching towards a vibrant sliver of purple peaking from under a door.
He swallowed sharply as he finally approached the door. His hand gently traced the frame of the door before hovering over the brass door knob, freezing to the touch in the cold winter. He finally gripped the handle, slowly turning it. He heard the door open with a soft click, and he pushed it open gently. His vision was flooded with the bright colour, and he could see the source.
Three monitors sat on a desk, each one displaying the same symbol. The emblem of the Rats in the House of the Dead, with an electric purple background. The desk was cluttered with wires and keyboards, set up for intense programming and such.
In front of the display was a man on a chair. His dark hair seemed to consume the light emitted, while his bright white, almost pristine hat shimmered with all surrounding light.
The man sat still as a statue for a moment before a voice rang through the room.
“Gogol?” A singular word bounced off the walls in a thick Russian accent, and directly into Nikolai’s ears.
“Fedya!” Nikolai cried as he moved further into the room. He stepped precariously over the wires on the floor, and rested his hands on the back of Fyodor's chair. He leant down, lying his head on the other's as he spoke.
“I haven't spoken to you in years!! How are you, my good friend?”
“You spoke to me three days ago. Remember?” Fyodor stated, straightforward and cold. He didn't ever bother with taking part in theatrics.
“Yes, but you're my best friend!! I should talk to you all the time!” The white haired male erupted, jumping up suddenly which happened to shake the chair beneath them both.
Despite not bothering with theatrics, he found the Jester weirdly amusing.
“You have a job in this organisation, Gogol.”
“Yes, and I've completed it!” Nikolai walks round the chair, standing to the side of Fyodor, and dropping to his knees, followed by a harsh thud. Fyodor spun his chair to face the man on the floor.
“I wanna spend time with you, Fedya.” Gogol stared up at the demon in front of him, his multicolour, icy eyes gazing adoringly into the deep magenta void. His hat tilted and slipped down his face, dropping onto the floor and crumpling.
Neither moved, neither reached to pick up the hat. They both kept eye contact, barely blinking, as if whoever looked away first would be murdered by the other. There was a feeling in the air, a tension that lingered, thick enough to hold, to taste. Nikolai wanted to speak, Fyodor wanted to hear, neither could initiate. They just stared at each other, one made of an endearing gaze, the other a curious observation.
After a moment of suspenseful fixation, the Russian spoke. It was a quiet rumble from the depths of his chest, rippling through the air and into the depths of Nikolai’s corrupt heart.
“Speak.” A command, a one-word order.
“May I kill you?” was all the Jester could mutter from the millions of speeding thoughts in his head at that current moment.
The Demon stared at him. What audacity, especially from such a man. A man who has sacrificed his own dignity to please and satisfy Fyodor countless times before.
Though, this was not a surprise. Nikolai wasn't one to be predictable. Fyodor knew this well. It also wasn't the first time he'd caught Nikolai plotting to possibly murder him; He was just much more straightforward and vocal this time round.
The dark haired man inhaled smoothly and slowly, audibly sighing in response.
“Why?” The only acknowledgement Nikolai received.
“Your ability allows you to take over anyone who kills you, yes?” Nikolai stammers and spits, his words leaving his mouth quicker than usual. He fidgets with the ruffles on his sleeves, still maintaining his watch on the looming man. “I remember you informing me about it…”
“Yes. I did” Fyodor straightens his back, eyeing the Clown as he explains. “Why do you mention it?”
Nikolai leans on his knees as he sits up, swiftly grabbing the others hands and pressing them against his chest in one motion. He kept them there, his head ducking to feel the Russian's tender, frigid fingers against his face.
“I wanted you to… to take over me.” A flurry of muffled speech, yet somehow Fyodor picked up every word. Nikolai’s eyes lowered from the raven-hair, anxiously lingering over their intertwined hands. His fingers twitched, concealing Fyodor's smaller hands within his grasp.
Fyodor shook a hand free, reaching up to hold Nikolai’s chin firmly. He forcibly raised his head, cold eyes sweeping over the man before him. Nikolai gazed back up at him through his eyelashes, uncomfortable under the harsh watch of the Demon.
Finally, the Russian voice breathed a response, “Possibly.”
“Yes?” Nikolai immediately raised his head, meeting the other's stare warmly, almost excited.
“We'll see. I don't plan on dying anytime soon.”
“Ah…” the Jester lowered his head in disappointment, losing all joy his voice held previously. His hands fell to his side, running his hands over his rough, bloodied trouser legs.
Fyodor noticed the lost motivation. He didn't care, but understood this crushed Nikolai.
“Try your best, Kolya” He whispered with a cunning hum, almost manipulative.
Nikolai shot up, almost jumping to his feet in shock and excitement. He ogled at Fyodor with admiration and love, before tilting forward, leaning on the chair's arm and looming over the man in the chair.
“I'll try my best, Fedya!” He grinned madly as he spoke. His brain swirled with ideas and, moreover, thrill and trickery. He spun around dramatically, his cape twirling in the air around him and wrapping him up, and began walking back out of the room, avoiding the sea of tangled wires wherever he stepped.
Nikolai shut the door with a loud slam, his hand resting on the knob before joyfully turning and hopping down the corridor. The corridor was now being lit by the tender, warm glow of the Rising Sun.