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"Well, well... Haven't you paid too high of a price for your stubbornness...?"
The whiteness of the room he found himself in clouded his senses. Unable to extract any specific detail from it, he teetered on the edge of wakefulness and sleep. He wasn't sure if his entire body was gripped by pain or just some inexplicable discomfort of existence. He certainly didn't have the strength to do anything. Just breathing seemed almost too much effort and opening his eyes was all he could manage. For some reason, he woke up. But the dream – could you even call it a dream...? – wasn't at all blissful and brought no relief.
He didn't have the strength or desire to talk to her now. Or ever...
He heard another sound, but he couldn't place it or describe it. Agatha approached him from the back of the room, her silhouette stood out against the white nothingness in the corner of his vision. She sat down on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She looked at him, but he couldn't make out her expression, it was blurry.
"What am I to do with you... It would have been easier if you'd let me help you from the start."
Memories of recent events slowly crept back to him. He knew what she was getting at, but he wasn't going to answer her, at least not yet. He'd barely regained consciousness, and she was already about to reproach and mock him.
"How long...?" His voice betrayed him, too weak to finish the question.
"Three days. Makes sense, right?" she replied quickly, invigorated by some reaction on his part. "We barely managed to get you back together," she laughed bitterly. "Your friend didn't want to help us at all... To get him to give you your hand, I had to convince him for a long time that you'd need it more than him."
Fyodor tried to rise from the bed, but a gentle hand rested on his chest, guiding him back to the soft pillows.
"Not so fast, there's still time. Get some rest."
"Is Nikolai here...?"
"I wanted to keep an eye on him. He's in terrible shape."
"I don't doubt that..."
"You want to kill him?"
"Very much so..."
"You'll have to wait a while longer," she mused. "We have some more pressing issues."
Reluctantly, he had to agree with her. He sighed deeply, though he quickly regretted it as a searing pain shot through his ribs.
"Something important happened when I..." He didn't really know how to finish the question.
"Hmm... Kamui lost, so now it's all in our hands. Our opponents are probably still celebrating their victory and your supposed death. No one has found the book yet, so anything's possible. We'll give them a good rematch in the second round," she giggled. "Oh, I'll cheer you up. I took care of Sigma too. After letting him find out everything about you, it would be unwise to leave him in the hands of our enemies."
"I'm glad you thought of that."
"You can count on me," she laughed again, seeing the grimace she'd brought to his face with those words. "You'll ruin yourself if you keep trying to rely only on yourself."
He knew that well, but it wasn't something he could change just like that. Life had taught him he couldn't trust anyone – not even his allies. Even if this philosophy had already lost him several times (even fatally), he couldn't bring himself to change it, to entrust his fragile life, fate, or ideals to someone else. Loss through someone else's fault is more painful than one's own. He certainly wouldn't be pushed to metanoia by the false words of this woman who only needed him for her own benefit.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Agatha snuggled into his chest, and he had no strength to resist the gesture.
"Remember, I am your Mary Magdalene, Son of God..." she whispered, her warm breath fanning his cool cheek.
"Blasphemy." he scolded, knowing it would be useless; the woman was too fond of mocking him. Only now did he feel the discomfort of this sudden closeness.
After a moment, she rose and gave him a gentle smile.
"You won't escape me now... Hmm, but I can give you a moment to breathe... I have to go now, I still have a few things to take care of. Besides, someone else would like to see you..."
"No, I don't want to see him..."
"Shh..." She placed her index finger against his chapped lips, and he obediently fell silent. "I had to put up with him for three whole days... Let this be punishment for your stupidity and a lesson to be more prudent in your actions next time..."
He reluctantly had to accept the terrible consequences of his own actions.
When she left, he closed his eyes, as if hoping to fall back asleep. It was impossible; his mind was aroused anew by everything he had learned, everything he had confronted, and everything he would yet have to confront. He wanted to find some respite in this moment of silence, but he couldn't. His own thoughts betrayed him, overcome by emotion, reliving what had happened in Meursault and what was yet to come.
After a long moment, the wooden door opened, its gentle creak bringing him back to reality and the present moment. As if in panic, he turned his head toward it, trying to settle into a half-sitting position, propped up on the pillows.
Nikolai stood before him. He looked at him with wide eyes, as if in disbelief, as he closed the door behind him. Fyodor also focused on him. This time, Gogol wore only a plain white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, revealing his collarbones, and black trousers. Nothing obscured his face, not even makeup; the only thing visible was a look of disbelief, completely unconcealed, etched between his parted lips and flushed cheeks.
"Fedya…"
"Nikolai…"
He slowly approached him, his movements marked by an uncharacteristic uncertainty. He didn't trust his senses, perhaps partly wishing that the man before him, who had cost him a sea of tears, was merely a mirage.
"I can't believe…"
When he approached Fyodor, he knelt by his bed and cupped his face in his hands.
"Is it really you…?" he whispered, looking straight into his eyes, probing every corner of his dark irises.
"Yes, Koyla…"
Nikolai choked his words in a sudden kiss, as if seeking confirmation in the gesture. Fyodor froze for a moment in surprise, but after a moment, he hesitantly returned the gesture, which was foreign and new to him.
Only the lack of air separated them. Fyodor's pale face took on a flush of color, and the warmth spreading beneath his skin was gently soothed by Nikolai with successive kisses, also wet with tears.
Fyodor didn't know what to say, so he remained silent and allowed him to do anything, without any resistance. When he stopped kissing him, Nikolai rose to straddle him and embraced him, enveloping Fyodor in his arms. Then he heard and felt the restless beating of his heart, as if it were trying to break free from the cage of ribs that was its prison. He felt his entire body tremble, savoring this alien closeness and unexpected warmth – he wanted to forget the pangs of guilt.
"You fool..." Nikolai cried between kisses he placed on the top of his head.
After a moment, Koyla grabbed his arms and pulled them away, as if to reassure himself once again that this Fyodor was the same Fyodor he remembered.
"Why are you like this... Why don't you ever let me help you? You never asked me for help, and you had so many opportunities... If you had, you would never... you would never have died..."
Fyodor remained silent. The knowledge of his failure was too painful, and the reason for it even more so. He didn't intend to explain himself to Nikolai, because he felt he should do it to himself first. And he wasn't able to yet.
"I still can't believe it..."
Nikolai sat on Fyodor’s thighs, still troubled by the sight of him. He took Dostoyevsky's hands in his own and brought them to his heart.
"I'm sorry I wanted to kill you...Only after you died did I realize I didn't want this at all… I completely failed to escape my feelings, quite the opposite… If you still want to erase my existence, I'll help you; you should do it…"
"Stop…" Fyodor lowered his gaze, unable to bear the sadness he saw in front of him.
Everything was happening too quickly, and he needed more time to fully comprehend what had happened. He first needed to come to terms with this unfortunate turn of events and accept it, and above all, to draw some conclusions and, based on them, undertake change. It terrified him, but there was no other solution.
His lack of trust ultimately ruined him and he could no longer trust himself. But there was no clear dogmatic certainty about this matter. Now he saw the same risk in his past actions and the desire to change them, so he could – should – take it.
"I'm sorry, Koyla…"
He couldn't bring himself to say more. There would be time for that; for now, he didn't need to rush. For now, he wanted to remain in the moment, in the face of the closeness he had always feared. He constantly wondered if he would ever escape his own foolish fervor, if he would finally find that light that didn't exist... He found solace only in Nikolai's arms, which embraced him once again, and in his warm kisses.
Whether he was someone he could trust, finally feel a mutual understanding, share the sadness of existence with... Now he wanted to know the answer.