bodacioustomato - Tumblr blog

bodacioustomato · 2 days

Text

TRASH SUGAR MAGIC

➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7: ᴍᴀᴊɴᴜɴ

➛ nikolai gogol x fem!reader

➛ angst, mature content, explicit language, tiny fluff | words: 10k

➛ ao3 | spotify | main menu | discord (18+)

“Hey, new guy.”

Nikolai looks over his shoulder. His eyes meet with a group of inmates sitting by the table, enjoying breakfast. Half of the inmates are already out to roam and get breakfast while he is on his way to the shower room.

“Pretty hair you got there. Fake?” One of them teases, nudging his chin up.

Nikolai only blinks—his face wears no emotion while the group of inmates are laughing as if the guy just said something funnier than a pierrot’s mime. It is his second day in prison and almost everyone is already curious about him. He wonders why—was it his naturally white hair? His eyes? His scar? His tattoos?

He turns away, deciding to ignore them and keeping his attention to his current goal—to get a shower. He knows it is considerably late to take a shower since many inmates are already on their routine and day. But he does not really want to fight with people to get a turn in the shower, like yesterday.

“Don’t drop the soap, pretty boy! You look like you are hung down there.” The group teases again, loudly. Several others around them are also cackling at the lewd comments. Usually, Nikolai would respond with a similar remark but he really does not have any energy to talk to anyone.

Everything happened so fast. He feels like he is coordinating someone else’s life right now. As if he is holding a controller to a body—so disconnected, so far away. Ever since he was arrested, time has lost its meaning. In a blink, he realised he had gone through custody, trial and imprisonment. All in one week, at the fresh age of twenty-eight.

He did not even have a lawyer to represent him. He was already given up by the time Fyodor manipulated the system to get him arrested for murder, assault and identity theft. He thought he would be thrown into Meursault, considering his reputation—but instead, he was kept here, in this prison somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Meursault is just several countries away…

Nikolai walks into the shower room. It is lacking people. The floor is a little flooded, perhaps due to the drain hole being clogged. There are three sections separated by walls on his right side. Each section has four showerheads. On his left side, there are five sinks with cracked mirrors. The only door in the room is the main door.

The first time Nikolai used this shower room was yesterday. It was not a pleasant experience—gross. He does not mind being naked in front of others—his mind is still elsewhere. But the comments he received about his body were very annoying—something in him stirred, concocting a potion of violent and murderous thoughts towards everyone in that shower room.

He gets to the section at the end, where the condition is a little better than the others. But he sees four buckets are already on the floor, which can only mean one thing—four inmates are reserving this shower section. Nikolai looks around, in case there are those people around, but really, he is the only one in the room.

Well, he is planning to take a quick shower anyway.

Nikolai steps in and starts stripping himself naked. He hangs his white prison uniform on the hanging bar before turning on the shower and letting the water stream down his body. The water is as cold as ice—his back tenses when the frost hits his skin, trailing down to his waist, hips and legs. He sighs before he faces up, making the rain of cold water hammering his face.

What is happening?—His heart mumbles. He does not feel like himself. It is not his first time getting arrested—that first moment was eight years ago when he and Viktor, alongside two of Viktor's friends, were detained at the police station because they were caught stealing a car. It is not his first time being away alone in a foreign place either—he remembers only knowing basic Japanese while navigating the city of Yokohama by himself just to find Fyodor.

Fyodor…

That bastard.

As soon as the helicopter crashed, he disappeared with the arm of his friend—or so he thought. He tried to find Sigma but the commotion that he and the Double Black had done was attracting unwanted enemies. Wishing nothing but the best for Sigma, he left Meursault.

He is dead. I wanted to kill after all. It’s fine.

Somehow he felt like he was lying to himself when he muttered those words. The smile he painted on his face was not enough to conceal the uneasiness in his lungs. He is a great liar—and yet his head is convincing him that he is no longer an actor the moment he took that arm, embraced it, talked with it.

Where is the freedom I was promised with?

He was expecting that sense of liberation when he saw Fyodor die. That was his whole goal and the reason he went through all that trouble to fake his death, bring Sigma to Meursault and conduct a stupid fucking game to save and kill his best friend. Instead of liberation, instead of an ounce of relief—he felt doomed. It was a harsh wave of black sea devouring him deeper into solemnity—a sense of regret, a tinge of burden, a feeling of ‘No, no, that can’t be right. I do it all. I am feeling it. Yes, yes, this doom is my freedom. It must be.’

Nikolai bumps his head against the wall, the shower rains down onto his back.

What is freedom anyway?

His eyes quiver as he stares at the floor. His fist clenches. How frustrating. How frustrating it was to live for two years without a friend. He was convinced that his loneliness is the price he has to pay for his freedom, without anyone to understand him, to resonate with him, to challenge him. And it took two fucking years to learn that his fight and effort—perhaps it was neither—to reach his freedom, to tease his fingertips with it is doomed when he saw Fyodor again, alive and well.

“Those who defy Dostoyevsky shall all meet an untimely end,”

Look where it got you.

“Fuck.” Nikolai grunts. “I’m just a fucking animal.”

Nikolai shakes his head, palming his face and groans into his hands. No use in lamenting the past. He is in prison now, somewhere. How strange that he is not arrested for global terrorism. But then again, a genocidal maniac of an organisation can still thrive, so Nikolai is not even surprised if there are strings that are being manoeuvred in his arrest.

He grumbles again before he finishes his shower. He is about to take his towel from the hanging bar before he realises four men are already standing at the entrance of the section.

“Hey, did you cut the fucking queue?”

Shit.

A blink and Nikolai sees a fist flying towards him.

— ♡

“Your face is okay, new guy?”

Nikolai looks up, seeing his two roommates watching him palming his face with a cold juice box. “Huh? Yeah…” He replies slowly. He already knows these two dudes—Borys and Elvir. Borys is thirty-four years old while Elvir is thirty-nine. Borys is the friendly one though—somehow Nikolai learnt that he was arrested for drunk driving that caused the death of a family of three and he had the audacity to plead not guilty. Elvir is a mafioso. He was a debt collector and he had killed a couple that borrowed money from his mafia group. He harvested their organs, intending to sell them to the black market so the profit could pay back the borrowed money.

Scary. Nikolai also had chopped off organs before. Well, bodies, actually.

“Messy second day, huh?” Elvir asks. “You fucked around with Alexei’s group?”

“Alexei?”

“Those four dudes that jumped you in the bathroom? One of them is Alexei and he is kinda… well, I don’t wanna say respected… But they’re not to be messed with.” Borys says. Nikolai huffs as he picks out the straw from the juice box and pierces it. He sips the juice—it is apple-flavoured.

“So people are scared of them? Y’all scared of those bastards?” Nikolai replies harshly, leaning back to the wall as he crosses his arms. Borys stares at him, dumbfounded.

“You just got punched by one of them.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t change the fact that they are bastards.” Nikolai says with an unsatisfied groan. Elvir cracks a chuckle as he shakes his head and walks toward Nikolai, sitting beside him on the bed.

“We’re all bastards here, boy. Besides, it is what it is when you have that reputation in this building.” Elvir says, patting Nikolai’s back. “And you’re new. Everyone is curious about you. And hell, they even asked me and Borys about you. We don’t even freaking know!”

“Yeah, you want to survive easy, you gotta make friends and be nice. Look at you, being ignorant and arrogant on your first day and everybody is already assuming things about you.” Borys wiggles his finger up and down at Nikolai. Nikolai frowns, clicking his tongue before he looks elsewhere. “So, what are you in jail for? What’s your story?”

Nikolai stares at the cell door. He does not even remember. What happened this month is blurry for him. He knows he has been arrested for murder, identity theft and assault… He is aware that he is sentenced to fifteen years in jail. But the details are hazy and continue to be at the top of his head. He tries to think again, to get his head in the correct space—to be fully conscious of himself.

“I murdered people, I stole an identity… Maybe… Maybe it’s not stealing, but rather a fraud. Anyway, apparently I also assaulted people.” Nikolai replies, his voice reigning in doubt and apprehension. Borys and Elvir look at each other, perhaps they are also confused by Nikolai’s vague answer.

“Yeah? But what’s the story?” Elvir asks.

Nikolai shrugs his shoulders. He tries to connect the dots himself. Okay, okay, I fraud my identity to be a secretary… So maybe my crimes that were tried happened during that time. I technically murdered a bunch of government officials. Huh, do we count the guys I bound with chainsaws? Nope, that’s not me who killed them. It’s that ginger-haired detective boy who pressed the trigger. I assaulted… I assaulted someone, I guess. The tiger-boy? That boy was the one who lunged at me first! I just pointed a gun and stabbed his thigh… for self-defence, yeah, yeah. That’s not assault. I was assaulted instead! By a teenager, no less!

“Uh… I killed four government workers.”

“Why?”

“Avenging my wife.” He lies. He does not even know why he said that but he did. And he will let his story marinate the way it is.

“Oh, you have a wife too? I have one. Her name is…” Nikolai does not even listen to what Borys has to say. He just sips his juice until it is empty. He wonders how they could sneak a juice box into the cell because he knows it is not allowed to bring food in. Pockets, maybe? Does the guard not check?

“Pockets…” Nikolai mutters under his breath, so slow only for his ears. He slips his hand on his pants, feeling his hips and indeed, there are pockets on his uniform. His eyes glimmer before he puts his hand in the pocket, deeper, deeper, deeper into the unknown that only he can feel and sense.

He grips something. His fingers wrap around something hard, shaped like an ‘L’. Nikolai glances at Borys and Elvir who are now talking between themselves. Keeping his eyes on them, he retracts his hand slowly until he can peek at what he is holding. Upon seeing his revolver in his hand, Nikolai smiles.

“Oi, Nikolai. Did you hear us?” Borys asks and Nikolai’s head snaps towards them.

“What?” He responds with an annoyed tone.

“You gotta work after this, right?” Nikolai nods. “Textile factory? Elvir also is stationed there. He can bring you along.” Borys nudges his chin at Elvir who is grinning at Nikolai. It is a bit unsettling but Nikolai does not mind. He knows how to protect himself after all. Besides, if he wishes so much, he could just take out a grenade right now and blow this place up. But wagering his choices and paths, Nikolai thinks it is safer to abide by the rules now.

Abiding the rules. Ha, so funny.

“Do I really have to work?” Nikolai sighs. Working in a factory could be fun but considering that this is a prison, he imagines it would be much stricter and harsher.

“You can get a salary from working. With that small money, you can buy stuff from the shop. Make your fifteen years here easier.” Elvir says. Nikolai grumbles under his breath as he finishes his juice. “But make sure to keep your money safe. Sometimes it can get stolen.”

“Did you get stolen before?” Nikolai asks and Borys silently raises his hand instead. “You?”

Borys nods. “Yeah. Someone sneaked into this room and stole my money and important stuff. Glad that the guards caught the thief and I got my things back. Except, I couldn’t get half of my money because the thief used them.” Borys says before cackling. “My wife sends money every month. Maybe if you could talk nicely with yours, she’ll send some too.”

“... Maybe.”

I don’t have a wife, though.

The thought of marriage is enough to make Nikolai shudder. He just cannot envision himself being a husband to someone. Sure he has gotten into irrelevant relationships before—hook-ups particularly gave him some kind of impulses and thrills, aside from satisfying his own sexual needs. But a serious relationship? Huh—he had to take about weeks to swallow the bitter pills that his best friend ‘betrayed’ and ‘manipulated’ him, he does not think he can be in a relationship now, considering his state.

Besides, that concept as a whole is absurd. Pouring your heart for someone and letting yourself be puppeteered with intense emotions? No. That is too confining.

Nikolai physically cringes at the harsh fantasy that his brain is imposing on his mind without his control. He is already imagining himself to be a young husband for an old dude with a dirty beard on the verge of his death—ugh, imagine the sex? The dick? Can he even get it up? What a not-pleasant thought. What if he is a boyfriend for a younger girl who is very clingy and keeps nagging him about stuff? He does not think he wants to take care of someone else that much.

He shakes his head and sighs, ignoring the curious look from Elvir and Borys on his reaction to his own mind. A thought is just a mere thought. After all, Nikolai knows that none of those will become his reality.

— ♡

The night arrives just as quickly. Nikolai feels like his time is moving quite fast while he is working. The textile factory is actually a very decent place. Each inmate will work on their respective table, complete with piles of fabrics and sewing machines. The inmates and guards who are stationed there are also significantly nicer. Someone even lent him a pair of glasses because he was having a small difficulty while working on the needle and thread.

Nikolai is walking alone. Elvir is gone, despite working at the same place earlier. He passes by a room full of telephones on the wall. There are a few people inside the room. Driven by a sudden unknown urge, Nikolai enters the room and he sees a board right by the entrance. The guard seems to notice him, eyeing him cautiously. Nikolai only grins at her before he reads the board.

“You can’t call if you have no card.” The prison guard says.

“Eh, I just wanna talk to my wife, can’t I?” Nikolai replies before he nonchalantly grabs a phone from a booth, repeating ‘Hello, hello? Hello, wife?’. The guard looks baffled at his theatrics and stomps to him, yanking the phone out of his hand.

“If you have no phonecard, you should register first if you want to use this system. We are not allowing you to freely call whoever you want.” She says sternly. Nikolai hums and looks around the room. He has heard about this system before, when he was once a free man. He was thinking about calling Viktor—the only person he knows can help him out. He ponders whether he should try calling Sigma but Sky Casino is heavily monitored by law enforcement. Viktor has not worked legally for years now and Nikolai knows that he keeps changing his number once a month in order to avoid getting tracked.

“If you are not using any phone, leave.” The guard says. Nikolai only glances at her before an idea sparks in his head. He gives her a smile before leaving the place. Nikolai walks to his room, hoping that Borys is not in the room. His luck is blessed when he sees that he is the only person in the jail cell. He looks around, making sure that Borys and Elvir are not nearby.

He gets to Borys’s bed and checks under the furniture. No shower bucket—which means Borys is most likely in the shower room. He sees a pile of letters too. He takes the pile and feels every envelope. He realises that all of the letters have the same female name on them, written in Slavic script. Must be Borys’s wife. Nikolai checks each envelope before his hand finally grabs a thicker envelope. He opens it and sure enough, there is a stash of money and other cards in them.

“I’ll just take this.” He smiles to himself when he takes Borys’s phonecard and stuffs it in his pocket. Taking a couple cash too, Nikolai finally keeps back the envelopes nicely under the bed, arranging them in their original position so there would be less suspicion. He leaves the room quickly, returning back to the telephone room.

“You again—” The guard is about to snap at Nikolai but is silenced when he shows her the stolen phonecard.

“I can make a call, yes, missy?” He says, voice flirtatious.

“Who’re you calling missy?”

“Alright, madam. May I make a quick phone call now to my beloved wife?” Nikolai huffs, waving the card in front of her face. If she is annoyed, he is already annoyed that his small mission is hard to accomplish. He already gets a phonecard, what else does she want? “Hello? Can I? Can I? I’m not gonna be long. I need to talk to my wife. She’s pregnant, you see. I gotta let her know his very responsible husband is fine and dandy.” He says again, sprinkling some more fakery in his life story.

“Fine, make your business quick.” The guard sighs and Nikolai grins victoriously. He gets to the farthest booth and inserts the card in its slot. He holds the phone and dials the only number he remembers and knows that can connect him to Viktor.

One beep. Two beeps. Three beeps.

“Hello?”

“Olga? It’s me, Nikolai.”

— ♡

The cushion on the couch has lost its comfort. For weeks, his bed has been dominated and used by a young girl who is very clingy and keeps nagging him about a lot of stuff. The couch in his living room has become his bed and his weight is slowly sinking the cushion, making a clear dent. These days, Nikolai opts to sleep on the floor instead, with a quilt as his bedding and the couch’s cushion as his pillow.

Winter is somehow worse. Just several hours ago, there was a snow blizzard lasting for about two hours. It is his luck that the heater in this cheap and degradingly humble apartment is working efficiently. But still, the lingering coldness is distressing, especially for you. You are already asleep in his bedroom—it is three in the morning anyway. You fall asleep fast and Nikolai sees how you keep yourself warm with his blanket while wearing your cardigan beneath two layers of his outerwear. He wonders if you are even comfortable sleeping while wearing his fleece jacket.

Nikolai takes his mug of hot chocolate—you made it for him before you went asleep, unasked. He sips it. The drink is already cold but the taste is still decent. You said to him that it is your favourite drink, especially during winter and you hoped that Nikolai would find warmth with it. Well, Nikolai hopes that his stomach is not going to mess around at this dread hour.

He has been working on Eyes of God for a while now. He does not expect that it is extremely complex but it was designed to identify anyone from any security camera, so he was not that surprised. He managed to track Olga as a test run, and now he is trying to work the system on places beyond this region and if possible, beyond Russia too.

“Kolya?”

Nikolai jerks his head up, seeing you yawning as you stand at the bedroom door. You look ridiculously puffed with two of his jackets. “Yeah, what d’you want, dolly?” He asks but you just silently trail to the bathroom. Your eyes are barely open and you look dazed. Seems like you woke up abruptly because you need to go to the bathroom. Nikolai snorts and returns his attention to the laptop again.

The screen is filled with various information and coordinates. In order for the system to recognise and seek the person he wants with its artificial intelligence, Nikolai at least has to have basic information about the individual, especially their photo as a reference. As Viktor is an exceptionally talented information broker, he also provided Nikolai with basic information about any name Nikolai requested.

But one name is not given to him.

Your father.

Viktor: You can find her dad. With Eyes of God. Viktor: And then we can be done with this job. Viktor: You want her gone, find her daddy.

Nikolai takes his phone, scrolling through his file application. A folder with a serial number is picked and all the documents relating to you and your father are loaded one-by-one onto his screen. He does not need to request anything from Viktor. He already has that information.

He clicks a document and his screen loads again before it shows all the personal documents of your father—his birth certificate, marriage certificate, list of his expired driver’s licences and many more. NIkolai’s breath hitches before he forwards a print of your father’s identification card into the laptop. A few more clicks and drags later, the Eyes of God is already scanning and verifying the print. Nikolai’s heartbeat is strangely fast as his fingers start to feel a little colder. This is not the excitement that he is feeling. He cannot figure out what exactly his heart is beating for—he is just tracking someone, just some deadbeat guy. That man holds no significance in his life. Once he figures out where the hell is your dad, he can get rid of this problem he had to deal with for weeks now.

When the screen changes, his lips part.

Found you.

— ♡

“Where are we going today?”

You cheerfully ask as you pour another serving of cornflakes into your cereal bowl. Your eyes notice quickly the sight of Nikolai getting ready to go out—big coat and a red scarf around his neck. Nikolai sighs before he sits at the table, across from you. You are about to take the milk carton on the table but Nikolai’s hand is much faster as he grabs it and drinks straight from the spout instead of pouring it first into a glass. Your cheerful smile drops.

“Why would you do that?” You shake your head in disappointment. Nikolai grumbles—annoyed by your reaction to how he does things in his own house. Have you forgotten that all of these things are not yours to begin with? How ungrateful.

“This is my house, dolly. Carve that in your pretty head, can you?” He sighs. You only grin before you take back the milk carton and pour it into your cereal bowl. “I’m going out today. And I know, I know. You’re gonna cling and flash your pretty eyes to beg me to take you along—Well, no! No, you can’t come with me.” Nikolai says, sternly. Your smile drops into a sulky pout.

“Why not?”

“I’m just going to see Viktor, alright? Job stuff. Scary things a little doll like you can’t handle.” He replies. “But before you’re gonna whine at me for being bored all day, I asked Nastasya to come and look after you while I’m gone. Besides…” Nikolai’s words trail off. He thinks of mentioning again and again how you might try to escape him but it has been weeks and you have been obedient and eager enough to stay in his humble apartment—too eager, matter of fact.

“Never mind,” He lets out a sharp exhale before he leans back. “I’ll leave when Nastasya arrives.”

You smile. “I think that’s better than just being alone. Why don’t you just send me to her shop though?” You ask as you feed yourself a spoonful of cereal.

“Well, when I asked her to accompany you, she said she’d rather come to my house instead. I agree too since Viktor said the police have begun their search for you. And… she doesn’t like it when I bring my victims to her place.” He replies before he tries to reach for the milk carton again. But this time, you are fast enough to smack his hand with your spoon before you wordlessly give him your glass—gesturing to him to pour the milk into the glass instead of drinking it straight from the carton. Nikolai frowns, giving you an annoyed glance.

But regardless, he obeys. He pours the milk into the glass.

“You know… that implies that you have brought your victims to her place before, no?” You say. Nikolai shrugs his shoulders.

“Uh, yeah. A few times. Once, Viktor and I had brought a dead body to store in her shop for a while because Viktor was being a dumbass. He forgot a shovel. Nastasya was angry about it but not at her stupid boyfriend. At me.” He grunts before he suddenly taps the table. “You know what? Fuck that. They are both dumbasses. They really should marry each other and produce a dumbass squared.”

You only cackle at his rant. Something about seeing Nikolai being sensitive and expressing himself like this makes you happy. “I thought they were married. Why don’t they marry each other? I remember you said that they have been together for years.”

Nikolai lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I understand why both of them do not want to be officially and legally tied… Especially since neither of them is acting legally. Going to a government building while you’re actively being unlawful is never a good thing.” He says. “You would not want a husband who works among criminals and a criminal himself, right?”

He looks at you upon asking the question and he sees you staring at him—innocent gaze luring him into a dormant dream. Though you have not spoken it, he can already hear and know what your answer might be. Your lips part open and he holds up his hand at you.

“I don’t want to know.”

“But you asked.”

“Nope.”

“But you asked!” You protest, hitting his hand with your cereal spoon again. Nikolai jolts slightly at the sudden coldness smacking his skin. He is about to respond back but the knock on the door halts him. Giving you a knowing look, Nikolai stands up before he goes to the door.

He opens it and as expected, it is Nastasya. She is wrapped in a black winter coat as she sniffles. “God damn, the weather is so cold today. You got a heater, right?” She says and deliberately steps inside without any greeting to the homeowner. Nikolai watches silently as she takes off her boots and coat before tossing the coat that is slightly covered with snow onto the couch. And then she plops herself onto the couch. His nose scrunches—My sleep place…

“Hello!” You appear from the kitchen, beaming at the older lady sweetly. Nastasya seems to be taken aback by your spirit but nods at you regardless. You observe her outfit today—she is wearing a black long-sleeve top and a knee-length leather skirt. She lets her hair down and you can see some puffs of snow on it.

“Right. Since you’re here, I’ll take my leave now.” Nikolai says before he wears his boots and grabs his belongings from a drawer cabinet by the door. You look at him.

“When are you going to be home?” You ask, approaching him.

“I’ll be late.” He replies shortly and takes a step outside, but you quickly grab his arm. Thumb rubbing him subtly as you scoot a little closer. Nikolai sighs. “What else do you want?”

“N-Nothing… Just, uhm, just wanna say be safe.”

Your small voice is sprinkling sugar. His annoyance dissipates almost immediately and Nikolai is struggling to keep his irritation up as his lips are shaking upwards. He snorts. “Yeah, whatever.” He says, tone flat but sarcastic. He shakes his arm lightly, causing you to reluctantly let go. As your hand drops to your side, Nikolai gives you one last glance before he steps out, pulling the door close right at your face.

“He’s not going to war, you know that, right?”

Nastasya’s voice flinches you. You turn around, seeing the lady is already relaxing on the couch with a cigarette between her fingers. You smile sheepishly. “Well, I don’t want him to get hurt by the police or anything…” You reply as you step back into the house, walking to the living room. Nastasya’s eyebrow jerks up before she takes a long drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air.

“You know, that should be the other way around. You should want the police to not get hurt by him.” Nastasya says. You tilt your head. You know Nikolai is a dangerous man… but to what extent? By the way Viktor and Nastasya speak about him made him look like he is some kind of a deadly serial killer. You are aware that Nikolai is very skilled in what he has been doing, but really, the only time you truly fear what he could do was when he had to knock you out with some kind of chemical for being whiny and stubborn.

It was quite scary.

His roughness, his weight on you, his strength, his hand on your face, his gentle touch, his thoughtfulness to fix your skirt—

Terrifying. Terrifying indeed.

“Hey, girl,” Nastasya calls and you are snapped out of your mind. “Do you have any drink? Water? Warm, preferably.” She asks.

“We do… Do you want hot chocolate? I can make some.” You reply. Nastasya looks at you, confused and baffled.

“Hot chocolate… Since when…” Nastasya murmurs in disbelief before she turns to you sharply. “He bought it? For himself?”

You shake your head fast. “No, no. Well, yes, he bought it. I requested it… because it’s my favourite drink during winter…” You say before you clasp your hands gleefully. “I’ll make one for you! I know the exact measurement to make the yummiest hot chocolate.” Without waiting for Nastasya’s answer, you already jog your way to the kitchen.

“H-Hey! I don’t really drink… Huh… This girl is a little too cheery for someone who’s kidnapped.” She whispers to herself, leaning back on the couch as she waits for you to come back with her drink. About five minutes later, you return with two mugs of hot chocolate. Nastasya sits straight and presses the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray on the floor, right beside the couch leg.

You give her one of the hot chocolate drinks, which she takes with a soft gratitude muttered. She sips the drink, eyes slightly widening as the sweet and creamy cocoa taste hits her tongue. It does have a tinge of bitterness but it is just enough to balance out the sweetness. Nastasya must admit, it is probably one of the best hot chocolates she has ever tasted—well, not like she drinks it often… she can count on one hand how many times she has drunk hot chocolate.

“How is it? Good, right?” You grin. Nastasya looks at you and chuckles, nodding. Your face heats up slightly upon seeing her rare smile.

Nastasya leans back, holding the mug with both hands to warm up her palms. Her eyes wander around the apartment. “So, what do you usually do in this house? No TV, no phone, no games.” She asks curiously.

“I do chores. Nikolai is either working on the… God’s Eye thingy or just his job usually. Sometimes we will go to do laundry downstairs. I clean the house… Although sometimes there really is nothing to clean.” You say as you gesture your hand to the living room as if showing her the stuff you have cleaned. “Kolya never asks me to do chores though. It’s just something I do as a hobby… Because, uhm, I was always the one cleaning the house and sometimes the bar needed more labour.” You say, slightly abashed.

“Sounds like a trauma response to me,” Nastasya replies. You look up before you shake your head slowly.

“No… Not trauma… Nikolai has never inflicted such things onto me.” You quickly deny what was not being accused. Nastasya scoffs, taking a few sips of her hot chocolate before eyeing you, irises moving up and down.

“I never say that. And honestly, really? He has never done such things? That motherfucker hasn’t traumatised you?” She laughs. “Kinda hard to believe.”

You frown. “Why?”

“He’s very unhinged, back in the day. Literal menace. Absolute jackass. He calmed down now… after prison. I don’t know what they did to him in prison but they sure fuck that menace out of him.” Nastasya says before she heaves a sigh. “You wanna know what he had done? There was a time when he used his ability to separate all of Vitya’s fingers and threaten to mutilate them if Vitya didn’t comply with what he wanted. Wanna take a guess of what kind of wish he wanted?” You are about to take a guess but Nastasya cuts you off. “A role as a jester for the shady circus they worked at.”

“Huh? Really? Just for… a role?” You ask in bafflement. Nastasya nods.

“Mm-hm. That’s the kind of crazy that guy is. But I guess he still has his own charms… aside from being a freak.” She replies before murmuring. “Though, I’m still angry at him for doing such things to Vitya… I get that they’re friends but that’s not nice of him.”

“Are you one of the circus members? Like Viktor and Nikolai?” You ask, scooting closer to her, and Nastasya looks at you a little perplexed by your curiosity. She frowns slightly and nods to herself as if she has found an answer to her own questions.

“Uh, no. I wasn’t.”

“Oh, so you’ve been a tattoo artist?”

She stares at you. “I've been a tattoo artist since eight years ago… Before that, I was a prostitute.” She says before she looks down at her mug of hot chocolate. “The place I worked at was very shady. Disgusting men in black coats, ogling at young girls. It was like… being submerged in garbage when they touch you. They always said they're just making love with us, offering their dicks like that's something we should appreciate but they're nothing other than pigs—a bunch of rapists.” She grumbles slowly under her breath. She then turns to you, eyes vacant.

“Somehow I totally see myself in you when you’re clinging to Nikolai like that.” Her voice is a soft whisper. “Vitya is not a good person, I know. None of us are. But one night, when he paid me to be in a room with him, he didn't even do anything. He just wanted me to accompany him.” She cackles. “Can you believe it? On that bed where naked bodies usually have sex, Vitya took out his laptop and started to explain things to me about security cameras. No, more like… teaching.”

“I think that’s the first time someone has ever treated me like I am someone, instead of something.” She sighs. “One night, he said he's going to run away from the region because of things. He asked me to come with him. I did. I don’t even think much. I grabbed my purse and followed him. I even left my phone. I think that's the best decision I have made for myself.”

You gaze at her. “Have you… ever thought that he might have manipulated you?” You ask carefully. Nastasya shrugs her shoulders.

“Yes, but it's been years now and… he has never proved me wrong. He helped me in ways I never imagined someone would do to me.” She says as her finger mindlessly twirls with the necklace she is wearing—a leather cord necklace, with a small cross as its charm. She drinks her hot chocolate, smacking her lips before looking at you. “So, uhh, I’m not judging you for being affectionate towards him for being so kind. When you are so deprived of love, you would crave it.”

“Huh…” Your eyes travel down to your lap. Your mind is wandering through foggy memories—reminiscing every encounter you had. From your customers to the very first person you knew you loved. But even so, that person has long gone—even her face is nothing but fragments blotted with void. You frown to yourself, thinking back on the earliest memories you could recall of your mother—but it has been so long that you wonder, were any of those even real or were they attempts from your brain to offer your heart succour? Were the lingering touches you felt in your dream from her or the wind?

“My mom was probably the first person who truly loved me.”

“You don’t sound confident.” Nastasya is quick to reply, shutting your sun down. You bite your inside cheek, coughing awkwardly.

“Nope, she was.”

“Really?” She looks at you for a moment in silence. “That’s great, then. Not everyone experiences that.”

“What about you?”

Now she is the one who is biting her own inside cheek, drinking her warm hot chocolate as her fingers are twirling the necklace. Her eyes are staring ahead, seeming to be gazing at the wall with flaky dry paint. But her mind seems to be elsewhere—somewhere so far that she does not want to indulge herself back into. Realising her silence, you look away, out to the window—some things are better buried than reaped out.

The snow.

The snow has been harsher these days. The whiteness of the winter is clouding the dullness that haunts this town. Though, compared to previous winters, this one is particularly not dull—at least to you. Hot water is there for bath, the heater is always available, dozens of jackets for you to steal and wear. Complete—complete, complete, this is how a normal person should spend their winter. Not submerging oneself with a thick blanket and calling it a day. Not even walking alone to the club to spend a night just to borrow heat.

“My mom is a horrible bitch.”

Your head snaps back to Nastasya—still staring somewhere, she is.

“She did not treat me well. Blamed me for making her man leave her—as if a four-year-old kid had any control of that.” She says slowly. “She died, though, when I was fourteen. Saw her body in the bathroom and the only thing she held at that time was her rosary.” She lifts her necklace, eyes stagger to the cross. “The beads are all scattered, but she gripped this like her life depended on it. It’s the only thing I kept from her.”

“You hated her…” You mutter. “Why keep it?”

“No idea. No matter how much I hate her, despise her—she was… my mother. I guess it’s just a remembrance for me to not fuck up—just as what she always yelled at me.” Nastasya grimaces. “She was never religious. I mean, a religious, righteous person is not supposed to hit their child just because of eating slowly, right? But holding this while you’re dying—I don’t know. My heart told me she was praying for something if she was holding this at the brink of her death. What does a dying man pray for? To get to heaven? To be forgiven? Why beg for heaven when you never act heavenly? Why beg for forgiveness to a figure instead of her own child?”

“Well… People do cling to what they can and want to believe…” You reply.

“Perhaps.” Nastasya drops the necklace, letting the cross dangle on her cleavage. “I don’t think God exists. Never been to a church, never touched anything holy. But there are times when I beg anyone to come and save me—and I hold this. If you are so desperate to be saved, you will ask anyone, anything.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “Sometimes I begged the ghost of my mother to come—scare the men away or possess the whole club or something.”

“Maybe I wasn’t praying to God. Maybe I just need my mom.”

Nastasya sighs loudly before shaking her head. “What are you, huh? What’s with those eyes and voice? Something about your curiosity and presence made me want to pour everything out. You must be so good at your job.”

You swallow nervously, giving her a thin-line of smile. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment… But if talking to me can ease you, I’m happy to be here.” Your eyes glimmer at her as your hand reaches out to hold her arm. Nastasya startles, tensing up when you touch her. A simple surprise that takes a second or two to process as she relaxes immediately after. She snickers.

“No wonder Nikolai likes you.”

— ♡

“God damn.”

Water rushes to the sink, bubbles from the soap land on the edge of the beige porcelain. Nikolai curses under his breath when he rubs his hands together, harsher this time—just to make sure the blood is completely washed away. After five minutes of scrubbing, he finally takes out his handkerchief from his pocket and leaves the bathroom.

He walks through the crowd in the club—your workplace, well, former. He expected the club would be less crowded when the news about you missing broke to the public. But it seems that the manager does not care much about your absence—he seems to have his way of earning profits in other ways. But he also learned that some of the customers have stopped coming to the club ever since you disappeared—you must be their favourite if they do not even want to give other escorts a chance.

Nikolai approaches his table—where Viktor is waiting. The man is already on his third glass of vodka when Nikolai sits across from him. Viktor grins at him before pouring vodka into Nikolai’s glass.

“Hey, this place is not so bad, huh? Their vodka is cheaper than Olya’s.” Viktor says. Nikolai shrugs before he takes a drink. “Though I do expect this place to not have a lot of people. I mean, didn’t their princess disappear?”

“Yeah, good question. Guess she’s only popular with certain people… Or, you know, she’s just replaceable.” Nikolai replies as he observes his companion. Viktor is definitely trying to stay as sober as he can because he is going to drive later to Nikolai’s apartment to fetch Nastasya too. But seeing that Viktor is not even tipsy after three glasses of vodka made Nikolai chug his portion in the glass.

Watered-down vodka. Tch, no wonder.

“This thing is barely alcohol.” He complains before he calls for the waitress, ordering whiskey.

“Yo, you want to get drunk or something? Don’t forget you have a girl in your house.” Viktor says as the waitress returns to their table with a bottle of scotch whiskey and two smaller glasses. Nikolai glares at Viktor.

“By the time we get home, she’s most likely asleep. And I’m gonna pass out on the couch anyway. I’m fucking tired, alright?” He says. Viktor scoffs, crossing his arms as he just enjoys his scammed, watered-down vodka. Nikolai downs a glass of whiskey at once before tapping the glass on the table in front of Viktor. “Your jacket is a little bloody. Can’t you change it? You’re gonna make us look suspicious.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s just a smear. And this thing is dark brown. What do dark brown and red make? Black, exactly.” Viktor nods to himself, proud of his own riddle.

“I was about to say hemorrhoids, but okay,” Nikolai replies, shrugging.

Viktor huffs, kicking Nikolai’s leg under the table. The latter grunts and swats at Viktor’s direction. “Don’t fucking play footsie with me.”

“Oh, when you did it to me, it’s fine. But when I do it—”

“I’m a changed man, Pavlovsky. I’m not a pervert. Anymore.”

“Yeah? Yeah, not a pervert, yeah? Tell me what was up when you physically froze when your baby blue girl accidentally licked your thumb, hmm? Something was definitely up and it was your di— alright, alright, my bad.” Viktor is quick to stumble his words into quietness when he suddenly feels a blunt object against the back of his head—and he knows what it is. A muzzle of a gun.

Nikolai grunts before he takes his hand out of his pocket before he drinks another glass of whiskey. He turns away, propping his chin on his hand as he watches the club. He sees the other customers around the club are accompanied by beautiful women by their sides. His observant gaze attaches to a certain customer—a middle-aged man who is having the time of his life when the escort sits on his lap, wrapping her arms around him.

Nikolai scrunches his nose. Unpleasant sight. But his mind pulls a trick on him when it decides to replace the image of the escort to you. He—without his own wish—begins to imagine you being the one sitting on some random man’s lap. The simple thought of it pricks his heart, twisting it into a puddle of disgust.

He dislikes the sight.

He sighs internally, his hand reaches to pour more whiskey, consume more, and push himself to intoxication. It has been thirteen hours since he left home—left you. While he is not worried that your well-being will be taken care of by Nastasya, he feels uneasy at the mere fact that you are not within his sight right now.

“Hey, Kolyushka.” Viktor calls and Nikolai finally turns back. Viktor is now typing and clicking things on his phone. He looks slightly troubled. “Geez, man. Nastya told me that some police were searching the area around your apartment.” Upon hearing his words, Nikolai finds his fingertips beginning to sting and tense—nervous. The police were so close, so close to finding you.

So close to taking you away.

“They don’t come inside, right?”

Viktor shakes his head. And he lets out a quiet shaky exhale of relief.

“I’ve been deleting suspicious camera footage I could find that has both of your traces. Easy work but phew, I still need to be cautious in case the police department decides to care enough about a random poor civilian and conduct a deeper search. We just need to stall for some time until the police give up or when the loansharks can fucking finally find her daddy.” Viktor continues to ramble but his words are entering and leaving Nikolai’s ears at the same time. What he catches on though is the mention of your father.

Your father…

The cold whiskey flowing down his throat consorted to his memory of the last few nights. He found your father’s whereabouts, yes. He knows where that bastard is. His logic is telling him to tell Viktor, reveal and unveil. But his emotions—god damn it all—are telling him to keep it behind the curtain, hide it, veil it.

He cannot pinpoint which emotion exactly is trying to win over his logic. Logically, logically—! Logically, if he were to tell Viktor about your father, his conundrum would fade away. His job is done, you are gone, his bed will be his, his jackets will not be worn by anyone other than him and he will not have to hear ‘Nikolai, Nikolai, where are you going today?’ every fucking morning.

But if he just keeps quiet about it, whatever happened to him for the past several weeks will stay.

His job will never finish, his bed will never be his, his jackets will always be shared, he will have to answer annoying questions—you will not be gone.

You will not be gone.

For some reason, those five words are tugging every string within his heart. They are pulling, luring and tempting him to euphoria that he knows he will regret it—the last thing he wants to do is to betray himself.

“Kolyushka?”

“Her dad—”

No, stop it.

No, say it.

Say it, say it. You remember what happened to you when you let your heart take over, right? If you follow it again, then free will is just a mere instinct—an animal affection.

“Hey, Kolyushka. What do you wanna say? What about her dad?” Viktor says loudly this time as if he has been trying to ask the same thing over and over.

“I know where he is.”

His voice leaves his mouth, tone slightly forced and choked—but only Nikolai himself feels it. He takes a deep breath. “That man is near the Belarus’ border.”

“He is what? He is near fucking what? Fucking Belarus?” Viktor’s eyes widen, completely shocked. His jaw hangs low as he taps his own ears a few times, making sure he is not hearing things. “Fucking what? What the fuck? Going to Petersburg is easier than travelling hours to another country!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Sorry. But what the fuck, dude. He is going to leave his daughter alone in this big country just to escape some loan sharks.” Viktor groans and shakes his head. “I knew he was running away but I did not expect him to go that far. I actually did visit her house on the third day she went missing. And you know what? Her house was empty like it was abandoned. I tried to check again a week after that and it really was abandoned.” Viktor says before he clasps his hands excitedly. “Right! This is great, right? We can end this shit right now. Hold on, I’ll tell the loan sharks.”

Nikolai frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“What? You want her gone, right?” Viktor grins and Nikolai purses his lips, watching his friend messaging the spokesman for the loan sharks about your father. His hand clenches, his foot shakes faster—anxious.

Stop him! Stop him! Stop him!—His heart is screaming and Nikolai is physically gritting his teeth as he just watches Viktor. His chest heaves heavily and his body is shifting subtly on his spot. It tickles, it bothers him, ruffling his feathers. The wooden seat does not feel comfortable to sit on, the air in the room feels warmer despite the heavy snow outside and the voices around him are bugs. Words are not fathomed and the soundwaves are irritating—noisy, noisy, noisy.

Before he realises it, he is already gulping whiskey straight from the bottle.

You would hate this sight of him.

Nikolai sighs again—why does every single thought he thinks of always rotate and find its way back to you?

You.

You caused this to him—this is her fault. She should’ve been gone!

“Nikolai.” Hearing his name, Nikolai glances at Viktor again. His voice is no longer excited. Smile falters and the frown and the squint of his eyes are just indicators of worry. “What about your stuff for St. Petersburg? Did you find the guy you’ve been looking for?”

“Oh. No, not yet. Working on it.” Nikolai replies shortly.

Viktor stares at his friend for a good minute before he sighs and rubs his face. He crosses his arms. “What happened to you, man?”

“What?”

“The fuck you mean ‘what’? You know well what I mean. You’re not the guy I know anymore, especially after you got out of prison. You had shit ass behaviour but now you’re too rough and serious and… Man… I’m—” Viktor sighs again. “I’m worried about you, as a friend. After you return from Japan, you’re different. Yes, you were fucking obnoxious but as soon as you got arrested and thrown into prison, it’s like your switch is flipped.”

Nikolai clicks his tongue. “What I did in that country was important for me to reach my freedom—”

“That again? Nikolai, that’s some kind of absurdity you’re trying to get. It’s impossible to have complete freedom and free will. You can’t just fully escape your emotions. That shit is engraved forever. You’re going to end up killing yourself if you are too fixated on it.”

“I know that already!” Nikolai replies back, his tone harsher, slightly slurry as if the alcohol begins to seep into his mind. “And I don’t fucking care. If killing myself is the only way for me to be free, so be it. Knowing that you are trapped in your own body and mind will never bring peace to yourself. I will choose my freedom over my happiness. God, I fucking envy you. You don’t even realise it!”

“What the— What the hell are you talking about, you freak? You are you. Your body and mind and brain and fucking head are you. What’s wrong with just being normal, just being you?” Viktor winces.

“Are you truly living? Think again. Is your life truly yours if you are confined by some kind of outside force? Is your brain truly yours when it’s adhering to the rules of morality set by somebody somewhere?”

“I’m not even a good Samaritan—”

“But you are still afraid. Your life is driven by fear of getting caught. You may have thought for yourself but see, see, Viktor. You said you are an outsider to society, but no, not really. You are still within it. You have never tried being outside it for real once.” Nikolai says, his tone is coated with frustration. His head is spinning, his think-pieces are not pieces, but rather a mud of antipathy.

“Hell yeah, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you man.” Viktor shakes his head, drained by the sudden arguments that erupted. “You’re freaking drunk, Kolyushka. You should go back home.”

— ♡

Nastasya just left the house thirty minutes ago.

You are swamped by the heat of the blanket and Nikolai’s jacket that you wear. It is already the dead of the night and you are supposed to sleep as soon as Nastasya leaves the house but you cannot find yourself knocking on the door to the dreamland—your mind is insisting on staying conscious, occupying itself with contemplations.

You cannot stop thinking about a certain sentence muttered by Nastasya. Even aware of the abuse her mother inflicted on her, Nastasya still desires her mother.

What you are concerned about is that would you feel the same way about your father? You cannot remember the point in your life where you truly feel comfortable with your father’s presence. But you forced yourself to get used to the uneasiness—after all, you only have him to depend on, until you learn how to depend on yourself, bit by bit.

You huff before burying your face into the fabric of the blanket, seeking comfort. The house is too eerie—tears swell when you are reminded of the fact that you are alone again. Alone and cold.

Cold. Too cold.

Until you hear a noise coming from the living room. The sound of the door opening and closing. The whole house is dark but you can see the silhouette of the man you have been subconsciously waiting for. You are about to get up to greet him, but seeing him stumble and walk very unstably sends an alert in your head.

He is drunk.

Drunk men. Drunk men are never good. Drunk men loved you, praised you, adored you, hurt you.

Clutching the blanket, you watch him apprehensively. Nikolai enters the room and his gloomy eyes widen slightly at your sight. “You,” He says as he steps in, approaching you. “It’s all your fuckin’ fault. You did this to me. You caused this—” His voice is seething with anger as he stomps towards you.

You scoot back but then, his body flops onto the bed, right beside you. His arm is slouching around your waist as he weakly tugs you to properly wrap his arm around your body. As if you are bewitched, your body tilts closer to him and he whines—he whines against your skin as he pulls you into a tight embrace, his face buried against your chest.

“Kolya..?” You mumble, heat fading into your cheeks.

“I wanna kill Viktor…” He mumbles back, lips brushing on your skin.

“You can’t do that.”

“I can’t?”

“Mm-hm. He’s your friend.”

“I am not a friend for an asshole,” Nikolai grumbles. “He doesn’t understand me. Nobody ever does. Except… Except… Except for Fedya. Fedya understood me. We only shared short chats but he saw right through me, little dove. That’s what a friend is. Friend understands you.” He babbles. You only listen to him, enjoying the feeling of his hand kneading your back.

“So, this… Fedya guy is your friend?”

“No, not at all, no no no… He… put me in prison…” His voice hardens, as well as his grip on your back. You shift a bit, as his fingers are digging into your skin. “He put me in the literal cage. He understood my freedom and he stripped it away from me. Prison is no fun—I hate that place. Everyone sucks. Got punched on my second night there and I’m supposed to respect bastards who're balder and shorter than me. I hate it. I don’t like it.” He complains again, this time his embrace is tighter as he continues to just spill what’s on his drunken mind.

“Gonna find him and kill that bastard for good. Peters… I must go to Peters… I need money… Peters is fucking expensive…” He whispers. “You can't imagine how I hate my life now, dove. I should’ve died that evening. I should’ve gone through with it. Why, why did I change my mind at the last minute? Fuckin’ dumb…”

You carefully place your hands on him—one on his head and one wrapping his body, your arm hanging against his broad back. You gently caress his hair, massaging his scalp which makes him mewl slowly.

“You’ve been drinking…” You say softly, your hand holds him as close as you can, hugging him back. “The day has been rough for you?”

Nikolai is silent for a second. “Mmm…” He hums with a tiny nod. “Why are you so comfy? I don’t like this…” He murmurs before he relaxes—his embrace is no longer tight but still close. He sighs against your chest. “I don’t like that… you’re… making me feel things…” He lifts his face, lips puckering to give a chaste kiss on your collarbone. “A lot of things… It’s like— like I wanna kiss you sometimes— just sometimes… cuz’ I can’t do that… Or Viktor’s gonna laugh at me.”

You freeze, staring at the wall. “Do you mean that?”

No answer. But his slow breathing tells you that he is already drifting off. You smile to yourself, holding back a giggle at this situation. It is not funny, but having such a big guy you have adored for a while hugging you like this is certainly nice. His arm feels heavy on you and it feels too nice. You slowly close your eyes, breath matching pace with his as you too doze off on the warm bed.

Warm. Too warm.