Chapter Text
It was dark and dusty in Fyodor’s office, the way he liked it. It was quiet with the only sounds being the slightest air draft and the typing and clicking of Fyodor’s work. Despite having big plan for his work, it took time to execute it all, so most of his day were spent on his computer. He didn’t mind that of course, it gave him time to think.
He brought his hands off the keyboard and under his chin, where he rested his head. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, just… existing for a moment. It was hard to get times like this.
“Hey Fyodor! I’m bored, also neither you nor Fukuchi has given me anything to do lately, what’s up with that?” Nikolai strode into Fyodor’s office, with a quite loud and fast voice that Fyodor *sometimes* couldn’t stand.
Fyodor turned his chair around, facing Nikolai directly. He narrowed his eyes as the energetic clown in front of him before he hissed, “You’ve played your part well, when you do have something to do we will let you know.” He sighed, “Would you mind not bothering me right now?”
Nikolai responded in a mocking tone, “Oooo is Fyodor doing top secret wo-“ his sentence was interpreted by a fit of coughing. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, widening his eyes. He blinked a couple of times before he murmured, “Where did that come from? Ha, it’s *probably* from all the dust in here. Do you ever clean this place?”
Fyodor stared blankly at Nikolai, eyeing his cough. It was weird for sure, but it was just a cough, nothing to worry about. He turned back to his monitor and responded, “I clean this place when it needs to be clean, you shouldn’t worry about it.”
Nikolai hummed and walked over to stand beside Fyodor, glancing at his screen. He flattened his smile and turned to Fyodor, “This doesn’t look interesting at all! This is what you do all day? Borrringgg!”
“It’s necessary unfortunately, this is why we don’t have you doing paperwork.”
“Thank Godddd~”
“Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain.”
“So what? He’s dead, why does he care?”
“God didn’t die, that was Jesus who died for our sins.”
“Blah blah blah, I don’t care, anyway this is a drag.” Nikolai rolled his eyes and turned away from Fyodor, “See ya!” Nikolai left and closed the door behind him.
— — —
Nikolai arrived back at the small apartment that he lived in.
Well, *lived* isn’t quite the right word for it.
As he walked in, he bit his lip at all the flower petals on the floor. He had tried to clean them up more times than he could count, but it came as no surprise that Nikolai wasn’t a fan of the whole concept. That was what he told himself. He didn’t like cleaning. The truth was more like the flower petals stacked up faster than he could sweep them up. The rest of the apartment was also in distress, left abandoned.
This was why he avoided coming back to this place as often as he could.
It was a reminder of how he was going to die, sooner or later. There was no way Fyodor would like him back. It was impossible.
And yet, he still loathed. He loved Fyodor, and that was enough. He loved loving Fyodor, even if it killed him. He grabbed and teared his heart out for that rush of his lungs when he looked at him. The way his stern stare landed on Nikolai with such a satisfying stab. It was the most perfect pain that Nikolai had felt. Even if the chains on his wrists and neck tightened every time he indulged in this new fantasy of love, he couldn’t get enough. It was a drug, the perfect drug.
Nikolai felt an intense itching in his throat, nothing new. He began coughing, a sound the echoed in his ears and up to his cranium, another painful reminder. He reached for the white handkerchief in his pocket, covering his mouth. He looked down at the cloth, it had blood on it, along with the other darker stains. A few red petals on it was well. There were shiny and covered in mucus. When Nikolai first got the hanahaki disease, he found it gross.
A flower?
In his lungs?
Surely not.
Unrequited love?
Death?
All the same to him.
It became more real after several sleepless nights. After the blood, tears, pain, and petals, it became clear.
He’s heard of the surgery, the one that can cure all this. The thought of not having that same longing though, it was sickening. Love felt good, it felt freeing in the most restrictive way possible. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, but why did it feel warm and inviting? As if Fyodor had crafted the chains he wore just for him, or maybe… he was the chains. Fyodor was holding by the wrist it’s one hand and jabbing a sharp object into his neck with the other. The warm blood that ran down his body, it stained the white veil that surrounded him with a pleading cry that was muffled by blossoms. His ribs crack and he will tare open his skin so that he can rip out his lungs and whatever flowers fall from his flesh and serve it on a silver platter. But he doesn’t take delight in burnt-offerings.
Nikolai took heavy steps to his bedroom, glaring at his stained pillowcase. He grimaced and sat at the foot of the bed, putting his head in his hands.
‘What takes priority, my only friend or freedom?’ He thought, closing his eyes, ‘Do I value loving over my own life?’
It’s too early to tell, he decided.
He took off the card covering his eye and his hat. He looked at his gloved hands and thought of all the blood that had been spilled on them. He took them off slowly, watching how they fell to the floor. He took a few steps back and laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The shadows that danced on the plain beige above him was never enough to entertain him. He sank deeper into the mattress beneath him, keeping his eyes open. He clasped the sheets beneath him. His temples pounded as he fluttered his eyes closed.
This was probably too much for one man to handle.