Chapter Text
One could say that a person only realizes too late which moments in their life were the most precious. What I did not realize was how heavy the weight of my own feelings could be. They consume me, yet they are everything that I want to reject.
It was a night all too familiar, where the sky stretched above, the sun dissolved into the horizon in a slow descent. The sky was of a beautiful chaos of colors, like a painter’s palette, smothered in pinks, blues, and yellows. I smiled up at a bird that was gliding overhead, a foolish grin on my face. Perhaps I looked ridiculous, a grown man staring with such childish wonder. The bird seemed content to me as it was hopping over to me and pecking at some scattered seeds around my feet.
“You have no cage,” I murmured, kneeling down on my knee to its level. It was so tiny. Fragile. So easy to destroy. And yet, I recognized that it could soar higher than any man ever would. And in one swift motion, I caught it, holding it in a tight grasp. Perhaps a bone snapped beneath my grip as the bird’s shriek tore through the air, trembling and shaking against my palm. I was stuck watching in fascination. Such pain, yet such desperate endurance. It even seemed a bit human to me. Humans are imprisoned by feeling, controlled by fear and morality. I chose to believe that I was defying this by wounding something so innocent and pure. Society’s restraints are a cage, one built on ethics, guilt, and reason. To escape it is to experience true freedom: where your soul is not bonded to any rules at all.
Despite my cruelty, I slowly lowered my hands, my fingers releasing the wounded, crying animal, almost gently. “I wish I was as ignorant as you,” I thought out loud. I then straightened myself up, turned around, and took a few steps, before pausing. “Far too afraid of death, are you not?” Humans are the same, we clutch to life. And so, I will welcome death, graciously accept it even, in order to prove that everything I do is out of my own free will, and this will belongs only to me.
“What are you doing here at a time like this?” A voice spoke out, directed at me. The only other sound besides the rustling branches from the wind and the shrieks of the bird. But I already knew who it was from the voice. I dramatically turned around and gleefully screeched, “Fedya!” and bounced around. He could definitely tell this weird dual personality from first glance, back when we first met. But he never brought it up. Perhaps he did not care, or, rather just did not want to mention it. He kept the same stoic expression as always.
I liked observing him a lot. He was an interesting man, for sure. Unlike anyone I have ever met. And for this reason, I liked being around him, scrutinizing him as a person. I find myself unconsciously gazing at his face a lot and thinking to myself. His arch of his eyebrows, his pale chalky skin, his face so sculpted and young looking… And so, I looked at Fyodor’s face, at eye level, and smiled. He looked at me expectantly for an answer. I could never see any feelings behind those striking cold eyes. I couldn’t tell if it freaked me out or interested me.
I dubiously smiled. “Can I not just enjoy myself outside? This autumn weather is the best for walks!” He only sighed, bothered.
“I would be such a crazed man as to believe you. Go home,” he ordered. And so, he turned back around and started making his way to the organization. It was as if he trusted that I would follow him. Like I am some sort of dog! (I did anyway.)
It was probably past the first hour now. It was completely dark outside, not a single ray of light coming through from the sad looking window in the room. I was wondering whether I should just go over to that window, put my chin on the rim, and wait for the golden glow to spread across the sky? It was cold that night. Wrapped around in my plain blanket, I stood up and made my way to do just that. My room was messy and all over the place, but it was somewhat comforting. I stepped on a pen, but before getting the chance to whine about it, I recognized the faint sound of the violonchel’. Fyodor is so good at that cello. Even without any accompanist, it sounded marvelous. So expressive and melancholic.
Chapter 2: Hands Chosen
Summary:
backstory to nikolai in this au and a bit of Fyodor!
Notes:
I actually do not have any sort of plan or outline for this! im writing when im bored and I write whatever comes to mind. on reddit I saw @Kuricat16 write about their theory of Nikolai's past and I really liked it so a large majority is a retelling of it with some of my stuff added to it. I don't rly like what I wrote but I didn't waste my time on it so im STILL uploading it
((유∀유|||))
Chapter Text
I stand in place, right at the window. I slowly blink, and my white lashes were in view as I looked down at the window sill. My hand tightened a bit around that rim. I could not deny how the way the music from his room hit my ears really got to me. My hand clenched more. I hate it. It’s so soft. It evokes such strong emotions– human emotions! The very same ones I refuse to use! Yet, it’s so calm. I just want to enjoy it.
My hands drop to my side and the blanket slips off of me, piling at my feet. I did not put in the effort to pick it up, instead I walked over it. I stepped into the hallway, the smell of old wood making its way up my nostrils, and the sound becoming louder, more melodic. I wanted to warn him “you’re too loud,” or exclaim “it is the first hour! Are you out of your mind?”. But instead I stayed hidden and quiet, masking in with the shadows of the corridor. But of course, Fyodor notices me anyway, as always. He doesn’t acknowledge me with words, but I could tell that he glanced at my direction. It’s always as if he can sense that I am nearby. He always knows where I am, what I am thinking, what I am planning. It was silently decided that he would not quit playing.
“Rochmaninoff’s Cello Sonata in G minor, Op. 19,” I blurted out once he finished, dragging out the last note with precise vibrato, slowly going quiet. This was different from my planned complaints. I instead gave him a slow clap for the performance. Fyodor has played this movement enough times for me to guess the music piece by the first note.
“Who might I have the pleasure seeing in the audience?” Fyodor inquired, a tilt of his head. And as he tilted it, his dark hair flowed to his right shoulder, and his face was better revealed. From where I was, over at the side of the room, I could see his side profile, his sharp slavic nose, his precise jaw, and - oh, those eyes. The way he looked at me from over there with his long, intense, narrow stare.
“Quite a performance! Oh!” I laughed. I watched as he set his bow into the case, such care put into putting that cello away into the velvet material. He speaks once again.
“You must have really liked it, huh?”
“Liked it?”
“Mhm,” he nodded, “you waited for me to finish the movement. It was quite long, interminable.”
“No. I just have nothing better to do! That is all.”
“You look quite dumb swaying side to side when you are feeling so strongly.”
“What? Oh Fedya, 'feeling so strongly'? Who do you think I am?”
Fyodor did not respond verbally, but he gave me a weird look. What did it mean? Was it a challenging one? To me it seemed like Fyodor does not believe me, that he does not bother with arguing. He instead lifted the cello once again out of the opened case, lifted his bow, and returned to playing. And for some odd reason, I felt very frustrated. I lean back against the wall and listen for a moment. The cello is calm, the notes so precise, I could see the image of Fyodor playing it even with my eyes closed. The music feels like it’s reaching into my chest.
“You hover.”
That made me immediately defensive. “I wasn’t hovering! I don’t hover. I just came here to check on–”. I freeze. What game was I trying to play? The truth is, I was just admiring him.
“On me,” Fyodor finished the sentence, stating it as if it was a fact. I only laughed, boisterously, trying to cover up that weird feeling of doom in my throat. It was odd. I hated how Fyodor was right, that he knows I’m here because I’ve been pulled into this room by my feelings. It wasn’t a mistake. Fyodor asked quietly:
“Did the music bother you?”
“You bother me,” I snapped back. I had a dumb pout on my face. But Fyodor did not see it, his eyes focused on the strings, his slender fingers going back into position around the neck of the instrument. For some odd reason, seeing this lack of reaction made me feel quite troubled. Fyodor went back to playing as if we did not just have an encounter. So, I left the room abruptly, the cello echoing throughout the hall. Every note felt like a reminder of the one thing I couldn’t control.
Myself.
Fyodor sure was an interesting person. That is all. He is so different from the average human, and so I felt the need to talk to him. He was a tactician, apathetic, cunning, mysterious… The list goes on. I liked Fyodor a lot, he is my one true friend. He has a mutual understanding of free will! And he doesn’t get in my way.
I found myself in my room again, sitting on the rim of the bed and glaring at the window once again.
It was the next morning. I was hoping to see Fyodor once again, but as I made my way around the agency, he was nowhere to be found. I needed to keep myself busy somehow! I practiced some card tricks, pranced around the place, scared some random people outside… but the lingering feeling just stayed. The sonata was playing repeatedly in my head, clashing with all my thoughts. My thoughts were constantly preoccupied, filled with various wonderings and findings of humans.
Maybe as a child I did not have this so-called “extreme” mindset, but it for sure did grow into something large within me.
Growing up, I could only look up to the circus troupe. I bonded with the animals, I treated them with love. As I grew older, the ring leader brought up possibilities for my future.
“The animals truly are fond of you. Have you chosen an act you’re interested in yet?”
“Nuhuh! Not at the moment!.”
“You should be the next lion tamer.”
“Lion tamer?”
“Precisely! Imagine: you could be the next Lion King. How does that sound?”
And so, I got the role. I first found it to be quite fun. We had a new lion on the set, and I tried to figure out a way to show a fun act to showcase him. With time and patience, I could finally show my progress. The circus troupe was all watching, and I flawlessly, in my eyes, performed a few tricks with the animal. After the small performance, the ringleader pulled me into a more private room to speak.
“Is that all there is? I expected more. Something– something flashy!” He patted my back. “The crowd needs suspense! We’re missing the danger!” I tried to explain how that is the most I could do. I was still young, unsure of how the prior lion tamer got the lions to do such extremities. I later found out that he died from a tragic incident, in which he abused the lions to the point they developed serious hatred towards him and clawed his face off onstage.
“They’re my friends!”
“Are you dumb? The people don’t want to see your silly friendship with the beasts? They want to see the tricks. That’s what they’re paying for. There needs to be conflict.”
I refused to harm the lions, they were just innocent animals held here in captivity all for some tricks and money. I had fun with the lions with the way I was doing it. My point of view wasn’t deemed important, though.
During the big show, the ring leader found a way to drug the lions. It was some sort of behavioral drug, causing the lions to be more aggressive and irritated. I only realized it at the last moment, trying to calm them down right on the stage before the main act. This aggression towards me was very out of the ordinary, and my attempts to regain its composure were in vain as one pounced at me. I tried to fight back, but with my scrawny self against this huge intoxicated animal: it was impossible.
The last thing I remember is a loud shot. Everything to me seemed to go silent, but I do remember the wide eyes of everyone in the crowd. A young girl in the front row, grabbing her mother’s sleeve, wiping her tears with it. The smell of copper and the red spreading across the floor. My eyes made their way to the figure holding a large rifle over in the corner. The ring leader. I was devestated.
The lion was dead.
There was talk about the incident for months, arguments about the ethicalness concerns of circuses, or how dangerous it was for the humans working in them. I suffered from some broken ribs, but to me, it was insignificant. My friend died, right on top of me. I later woke up in some sort of white room. It was cold and uncomfortable. When the ring leader came to visit me, he sat on the rim of the bed. I scooted the other way, keeping distance from him. He started talking about something, but all the words to me seemed blended together, making no sense. I laid there absent-mindedly.
“You’re an animal yourself.” That was all I could tell him. Staring at the ceiling. I had no clue if I interrupted him, if it was sudden, if it made sense in the situation. But I said it. I’m sure the animals wished for absolute freedom. I was Christian at the time, and spent many hours searching for anything about a sort of “animal heaven” for them. If humans were to be allowed in that freeing place, why weren’t animals, when humans are way worse?
Time passed. I came back. I saw a new replacement for a lion once again. Everyone was always replaced. The same fate is to come for this lion, I assumed. I wanted to help escape its misery faster. It was being held back against the wall. It was skinny, and the bones were evident. The cold chains were pressing against its neck. This time around, I listened to the ring leader. I tortured it. It went against my morals. But I had the urge to get rid of these morals, to be free of the guilt I’ve been feeling in that infirmary bed. The animals that I used to consider friends stared at me with such eyes, terrified, upset. It made me feel guilty. And I hated that! I really did. I released everyone. I felt like a crazed man. How could I possibly have been abusing the lion?
Before the show, the ring master came up to me once again.
“The show must go on! Why are the animals missing? There is no show without the animals to torture. The show!”
The man seemed frantic, upset. I pretended to comfort him, give him an answer. I smirked and told him there are still animals in the ring. He was confused, but I dragged him out on stage. The bright harsh lights hit my eyes, and I could feel the expectant stares from the audience. It was quite small due to the last incident.
“You’re an animal.” I say, straight-faced, downing him with a stare. I tortured him, as I would with the lion, hitting him repeatedly. I smiled. I wondered how it felt to be in his position. There was a lot of chatter from the crowd, confused and afraid. The other members of the circus stood aside, so astonished! I loved that look on their face. They wouldn’t look at me in this way if I was doing this to a lion instead. People started realizing this was not a staged act when another member tried to stop me. I included him in the lashings too. Their flesh was torn apart as they cried. Everyone failed to flee, I closed off all the exits! I had this all planned out.
The news of the mass slaughter was very popular. But now I got to wander, realizing the power I would have as the whole world could be my new ring. I am in fact capable of escaping captivity on earth. This prison! The constraints of emotions, morality, reason… I was set on proving it.
Later, during the evening, I walked into a room and noticed Fyodor sitting, his back towards me, reading a book.
“Ahh, my friend! I was dying to see you!” I blurted, reaching out to hold his hand giddily with a large smile.
“Kolya,” he acknowledged me, his eyes flickering with amusement. He placed a bookmark between the pages and shut it, placing it down on the desk and tilting his head back to see me, studying me. “Mind if I share some thoughts with you?”
I just nodded. I was excited by the fact my best friend could trust me enough with his inner thoughts! It moved me deeply. Fyodor took a moment to look over the cover of the book, his finger going over the spine of the book before resting his chin on his folded fingers.
“I’ve been reading about the mind. Humanity in general is quite lovely, we are strong willed and resourceful, interesting. But the more I love humanity in general, the less I love men in particular. I seek balance and correction.”
“Ooh~ And how are you achieving that?” I laugh. “Blow everyone up? Replace everyone?” I say playfully, despite the serious topic. He ignores this and goes on.
“Purification.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he does not. He tilts his head as if asking whether I am smart enough to understand, to keep up with his thoughts.
“How would you achieve that?” I ask. I was a bit irritated at myself for not being confident in my assumption of his plans.
“We,” he corrected softly. “We will have the guilty get crushed by their own weight.” He put on a slow unnatural smile and his eyes were glinting.
I paid no mind to the look on his face. I rocked from my heels to my toes before leaning in. I got excited by the “we”. The invitation. The assumption. The implication that he has already carved out a place for me beside him in whatever god-complex future he has. I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t get too attached to my friend! But then again, he was the one and only person who truly understood me. Who didn’t see my goals as childish.
“And?” I coughed dramatically. “What does ‘purification’ mean to you?”
His eyes only narrow in a bit of an unsettling way, pleased.
“You’ll understand soon,” he replied. “I need only the right hands beside me.”
My pulse spiked, I felt the adrenaline rushing in. I was a deliberate choice. To have Fyodor Dostoevsky, the mastermind, choose me for his world-altering plans! What an honor! I now have a mission, a purpose, a role at his side.
Another cage.
And although I know I’m stepping right into it, I eagerly nod with a wide, eager smile.