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It was raining. The soft pitter-patter of the raindrops on the window filled the room with a lulling music. It was the only sound inside, other than the rustling of papers and the scribbling of a pen or tapping on a keyboard.
Fyodor loved the rain. Its sound, its smell, the way it freshened the world and washed away the filth from the streets, cleansing the city and the inhabitants from the sins they carried in their souls.
He loved listening to the rain. It helped him concentrate. He also loved watching the rain. It helped him relax on the rare occasions he could afford a break.
What Fyodor hated about the rain? The only thing he hated about it is being in the rain. Getting all soaked by the rain. Even if it was the blessing God bestowed upon the earth, the blessing that kept the plants alive and washed away the humans’ sins. He hated that wet, cold feeling, the way his clothes sticked to his body, weighting him down. And he just couldn’t stand how his skin got all itchy under the soaking wet fabric.
That’s why he couldn’t understand why Nikolai would want to go out when it’s raining. When he asked, the clown had just blabbed about feeling free and having fun in the empty streets before he headed out, wearing casual clothes.
The fact that Nikolai was not in his usual jester outfit surprised Fyodor a bit, but he then shook his head and turned back to his work. He got used to Nikolai being the only person in the world who can surprise him.
While Fyodor was in his mind, the weather got worse. The wind started howling, the soft patter on the window became harsh drumming and got accompanied by thunders in every few minutes. Although it was daytime, the Russian man had to turn on the table lamp, it got so dark.
Right after clicking on the lamp, he also realised that he didn’t hear the door of their apartment open. Which meant Nikolai was still out in that weather. Although Fyodor denies that he feels anything for the other man, he couldn’t help the first threads of worry slither around his heart.
The rain rammed against the window harder, and some knocks sounded like ice instead of water. ‘Did it turn into a hailstorm?’ Fyodor snapped his head up to look out.
It was not ice though that knocked on the glass, to Fyodor’s surprise, but a bird. A small, white bird stood outside his window, feathers all ruffled up, asking for shelter.
Fyodor wanted to ignore it at first but when he glanced at the miserable little being, he sighed and opened the window. The gap was just wide enough for the bird to hop inside, and he closed it immediately, but that few seconds were more than enough for the rain to form puddles on his sleeve.
The bird chirped happily and shook its feathers, sending tiny droplets of water all around. Its feathers were still damp and stood all over the place. With more cheerful chirps, it spread its wings, showing off the snow-white feathers, spotted with some black, its tips tinted with red.
Fyodor sighed again.
“See, I told you not to go out, you could’ve avoided this situation.” This time, he got an irritated chirp. “Am I wrong, Kolya?” The bird in question just turned his back to him.
With a huff, Fyodor caressed his bird’s damp feathers. When he lifted his finger though, Nikolai ruffled up his feathers in protest. The Russian man just chuckled at the bird’s attitude, knowing it won’t take more than five minutes, before Nikolai forgives him and will seek his attention again.
So, Fyodor went back to his desk, abandoning his clown on the windowsill for his work. And he was right, as not even five minutes later he heard the soft flaps of wings, then felt a small weight on the top of his head.
Nikolai flew on his head and cozied himself on top of his ushanka.
Fyodor found it amusing but whenever he moved his head to look from his papers to the screen or back, he felt Nikolai shift on him, trying to stay in his perch.
With a sly smirk, Fyodor leaned back with a fake exasperated sigh. He felt Nikolai shift again, the little weight was on the front rim of his hat. Then the Russian man suddenly jerked forward. Nikolai couldn’t keep his balance so fast, so he fell from the man’s head and landed on his back on the keyboard, adding dozens of random characters to Fyodor’s word document.
After some struggles, Nikolai got up and let loose a series of chirps that sounded surprisingly like ‘You’re so mean, Dos-kun!’
The culprit of this wicked act against his bird friend just laughed slightly and started petting the soft but still damp feathers. Nikolai couldn’t help himself and snuggled to the hand, seeking what little warmth it held.
Fyodor also noticed that Nikolai was cold. The only available solution he could come up with was his hat. So, the great and fearsome Fyodor Dostoyevsky took of his ushanka, placed it on the table upside down and put his little bird in it.
Nikolai chirped cheerfully and soon cuddled to the hat’s furred wall. Some weird, not entirely unpleasant warmth creeped up on Fyodor’s neck to his cheeks which he couldn’t recognise and turned back to his work.
The documents and research just couldn’t suck in Fyodor’s mind enough for him to not feel the bird’s eyes on him the whole time or not hear the little sounds he made with every breath. Even when he wasn’t trying, Nikolai just attracted Fyodor’s attention like a magnet.
‘God damn you, Kolya.’ The Russian man cursed in himself ‘Just let me be!’
Like he could read his mind, Nikolai soon hopped out of the ushanka and flew back to the window. Fyodor felt relieved but at the same time there was a bitter taste in his mouth. Fyodor tried to concentrate on his work, but Nikolai was distracting even when he was not close to him.
When he couldn’t take it anymore, Fyodor turned around. Nikolai was sitting on the windowsill, looking out with longing. Soon, he noticed the man’s gaze on him and with pleading chirps, turned his head back and forth between Fyodor and the window.
Fyodor understood what his friend wanted, but from his seat he also saw that it was still raining, though not as heavily as when the bird showed up.
“No.” Fyodor deadpanned. “You can’t go out. It’s still raining and if you catch a cold, I’m not going to cure you.” Nikolai just chirped and flew back to Fyodor, but instead of nesting back in the ushanka, the little bastard settled on his shoulder.
‘He knows damn well how he’s tormenting me.’ Fyodor fumed and tried to do his work.
But Nikolai – being the little shit he is – nuzzled up to his neck. Fyodor could feel every single feather tickle his sensitive skin and he felt his face heat up again. Nikolai knew what he was doing, and he was not afraid to mentally torture the man to get what he wanted. He does it all the time.
Just to make his suffering worse, Nikolai started chirping softly, almost sounding like begging purrs. ‘How can birds even make such noises?’ Fyodor felt his walls crumbling, so he did the only thing he could to save himself.
He shook Nikolai off his shoulder.
“For fuck’s sake, Gogol, leave me alone!” Fyodor busted out in irritation. He grabbed his cape and threw it around his shoulders, the thick fur collar preventing Nikolai to land on him again. He also put back on his ushanka and with ice-cold eyes, turned back to his papers.
Nikolai just floated in the air. Fyodor never called him on his last name. He didn’t like it because it reminded him of his family. Fyodor only used his last name when he was absolutely furious at him. Nikolai felt like he lost his voice, and he couldn’t find the energy in himself to fly anymore. To put it simply, he felt horrible.
With a few shaky flaps, he flew on top of the wardrobe where he knew laid an old, ragged cloth. When he first found it and asked Fyodor why he didn’t just throw it out, the man said it’s for the rats that may live in the house. Back then Nikolai found that answer adorable, and the fact, that the infamous Fyodor Dostoyevsky had a little place for possible rat visitors amusing.
Now, on the other hand, Nikolai just couldn’t find it entertaining anymore as he landed in the middle of that rag-nest. He tried to make himself as comfortable as he could, which was not much. The rag was dusty and smelled musty. In the dust surrounding it, he could see some footprints and any other time he would excitedly announce that the hypothetical rats were real and been there.
But not now.
He ruffled up his finally dry feathers and burrowed his face under his wing, hiding it.
Down, at the desk, Fyodor didn’t feel much better either. The bitter feeling from earlier came back hundred times stronger. Cold claws gripped the heart he denied he had and squeezed it painfully. Fyodor couldn’t recognize the feeling at first, he never felt that way before.
Could it be... guilt?
God’s eternal punishment to the human’s mind, that they couldn’t get rid of, that tortured the mind day in day out and drove them insane. So, this was the punishment he could get away from, for all his crimes he committed in the name of God, only to receive after a small quarrel with his friend?
Whatever it was, Fyodor felt horrible. He wanted to get rid of this feeling, wanted to make up with his (only) friend, but he just sat there, eyes fixed on the little place between the top of the wardrobe and the ceiling. He knew Nikolai needed some time when he was down, and he wanted to give it to him.
So, Fyodor forced himself to work. His mind was distracted, and he couldn’t comprehend how did four hours pass so quickly. He only noticed it when he glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen.
Soon, Fyodor couldn’t see the screen anymore. Not because his eyes were so tired his vision got blurry or it was so dark, no. Quite the opposite actually. His screen was bright, yet it reflected so much light, anything it showed became impossible to see.
‘Wait, what?’
Fyodor snapped his head around. The rain stopped and the window let in the warm rays of the late afternoon sun.
He stood up, ignoring the dizziness that always accomplished him when he got up and stepped to the wardrobe. It was too tall for him to see its top, that’s why he dragged a chair with him. Any other time, Nikolai would tease him for being short and Fyodor would retort with him having normal height and it’s the other who is too tall.
Fyodor climbed on the chair and searched for his bird friend for a few seconds before noticing him, seemingly asleep. But he knew better than that.
“Kolya,” his voice was almost hesitant. Nikolai uncovered his head from his wing and stared at the man. “It cleared up, you can go out now.” Hearing that, the bird sprung to his feet with excited chirps, his usual energy back. For some reason, it eased Fyodor’s guilt too.
Nikolai flew to the door, expecting the other to come as well. Fyodor already saw it coming and after pulling up his boots, he followed the other.
Once they were out, Nikolai was beaming. He chirped and sang louder and happier than any bird ever and was flying around with more energy than a hummingbird. Fyodor tried to follow him with his eyes and he felt that warmth from earlier return. Or was it just that it was summer, and he was wearing winter clothes?
Nikolai did some acrobatics in the air. He span and somersaulted, feeling that freedom he carved for so badly.
Fyodor knew how he loved being free and how he hated being told where to go, what to do, what to think. He hated receiving orders and let’s be honest, he was bad at following them too.
Nikolai descended from the heigh to Fyodor’s level and chirped, full of energy. Fyodor guessed he tried to tell him about how fantastic he felt out in the open air, his dream coming true.
Soon though, Nikolai ascended once again, performing more neck breaking acrobatics. Fyodor just stood in the little park Nikolai led them to, watching the bird with a fond smile he didn’t even notice forming on his lips when something caught his attention.
Nikolai didn’t notice it yet, but he was emitting some kind of green light. It was faint but it got more vivid with every moment. Nikolai was in the middle of a backflip when the hue reached its peak. It flashed green once, blinding Fyodor, then it disappeared.
Fyodor’s eyes widened.
Nikolai turned back.
Five metres up in the air.
Without thinking, Fyodor ran to his estimated landing point. Nikolai on the other hand wasn’t fazed at all. He got a glimpse of what flying felt like, he couldn’t be happier and if he has to die, at least he gets liberated from the shackles of his human body.
Nikolai expected the impact with the asphalt but instead he fell on something soft.
Fyodor tried to catch his friend, but his lack of physical strength was not helpful at all. Nikolai crashed to Fyodor, sending the both of them on the ground, knocking the air out of the dark haired one’s lungs.
Nikolai just giggled and laughed, not even noticing that he was sitting on top of Fyodor, butt naked.
“What did it feel like? Flying.” Fyodor asked, once the other calmed down a bit. Nikolai was still beaming.
“Oh, Fedya,” Nikolai started “I can’t describe it. It was the best feeling in the world.” He was buzzing with energy. “The way the wind caressed my wings, the way the sun warmed my face, that feeling of weightlessness, and how my heart pumped adrenalin in my veins with every flap... it was all so ethereal.” He explained with wide gestures.
“Sounds nice.” Fyodor answered simply but he couldn’t deny the fond smile on his lips as he listened his Kolya’s rambling.
“I wish you could feel it too...” Nikolai suddenly quietened. He had a smirk on his face that meant little good. He leaned closer to Fyodor, until they were a mere inch apart. Nikolai stared at Fyodor’s lips, while Fyodor was looking into Nikolai’s eyes.
“Kolya, wha-” He got interrupted when a pair of soft lips were placed on his own chapped ones. Nikolai cupped his cheek in his warm hand, while the other combed through his hair. After his moment of shock, Fyodor folded his arms around the other’s neck, fingers buried in the unbraid, silky snow-white hair, pulling him closer.
That was all Nikolai needed to deepen the kiss, but no matter how much he wanted to kiss Fyodor senseless and ruin him, he kept it gentle the whole time, caressing his cheek which made Fyodor shudder and pull even closer.
In that moment, Fyodor could get a grasp on what his partner meant when describing flying, but it was better. Nikolai’s soft, warm hands felt better than the sun, the fingers in his hair were gentler than the breeze around them, and those sweet, plump lips on his own just felt heavenly. His heart was running a mile a minute and he felt light, like his soul left his body, just to float around heaven's door.
He was about to reach out for the gates, when he was cruelly dragged back to reality by Nikolai pulling away, panting and trying to catch his breath. Only then did Fyodor notice, he also needed air.
“So that’s what flying felt like?” Fyodor was the first to talk, after he recovered a bit. Then he noticed his partner’s lack of clothes. Trying not to stare at that perfect body, he took off his cape and covered Nikolai.
“Actually, Fedya,” Nikolai smirked as he pulled him closer again. “this was better.”