there was something hauntingly, heartbreakingly beautiful about the purity of snow being sullied by the deep crimson of blood; a canvas, so pristine, turned violent. the world tended to fall into a hushed stillness when it snowed, as if it was holding its breath, and yet it became infinitely quieter when one sank into it, motionless, cradled by its cold embrace. above, the night sky would stretch, vast and eternal; the stars had always called to him, their ancient and unchanging light feeling closer than it ever had, wrapping around his fading consciousness like a tender lullaby. what a beautiful way to die, he eventually thought. quietly, a solitary surrender to the peace that had always been longed for.
except, it wasn't the end.
instead, what would feel like an endless month lied in wait, a ceaseless stretch of time that would devour slowly, inch by inch. consumed by suffering, swallowed in the dark, and he didn't even know where the hell he was. he didn't know who brought him here ( wherever here was ), nor how he remained tethered to this world, this broken, bloody body of his. and most terrifying of all, he don't know why. he would come to wish he wasn't. the shadows of one's past are cruel things that never quite fade; they found ways to drag you back into the depths of their torment, wrapping around the throat with a strong grip, cold and suffocating. they tightened, making a mockery of how he thought he could really be free. and he knew that much. oh, how well he knew it.
consciousness flickered in fragments, shards of memories that didn't fit together. he remembered the darkness, how it pressed down until he could no longer tell where it ended and he began. he remembered the cold, the kind that seeped into his bones, the kind that rendered him so not just physically, but numb in his very core. he remembered how he was left hollowed out, a mere shell of a body still clinging to life, and he needn't be reminded of its frailty. but above all, he remembered the fear. a fear so raw, so deep, that it bled into every pulse of his weak heart. and, yes, he remembered the pleading. for someone, anyone, to just make it end. no hand nor blade reached out. nothing.
one time, when he awoke once again, the cold that greeted him was almost unbearable. his senses began to sharpen, painfully, just enough to decipher that he was in a dumpster. a damn dumpster. how charming. death by garbage compactor, really? that was what they chose for him? too weak to move, he remained there, still and hopeless. if there's any mercy in this, he thought with a detached bitterness as the darkness swept in once again, perhaps it will be quick. yet, against all the odds, someone looked inside. someone found him—he would have called it his lucky day, had he not long since given up. he didn't speak. he could not. his voice had become a prisoner to silence, as it had before, and as it likely would again ( it didn't matter, anyway. what would he say? what could he say? he was just an unsightly thing now ).
the details of this blurred, too.
one blink, and he found himself elsewhere. he was laying in a hospital bed now—soft white sheets beneath him, the sterile scent of antiseptic heavy in the air. he'd always hated this place. questions were being asked, too many questions, all too fast, muffled and distant, as though he wasn't really there, as if the moment was merely a dream that he was too exhausted to wake from. the doctors weren't able to get much out of him, but it was fine, because one very important thing was certain. he was alive. and that was enough.
nikolai didn't bother trying to figure out which cocktail of intravenous fluids was seeping into his veins, nor whatever assortment of drugs they'd pump into his system. it hardly mattered. the medical team was concerned, and rightfully so. something about infection. a missing kidney. blood loss. these were only some of the words that drifted past him, heard, but not fully absorbed. oh, and of course—how could he forget? impaired cognitive function. significant mental health concerns. extreme caution. monitor closely. the familiar assessments; suffering that fit neatly onto a chart. if only it were that simple.
if only it were that fucking simple.
when his senses began to stir from their quiet slumber, it felt as though he hadn't slept much at all. goddamn, it felt like he'd been hit by a truck. no—hit, backed over, and hit again for good measure. somewhere nearby, a nurse spoke with someone else. he didn't open his eyes. it wasn't until there was the quiet scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bedside that he forced them open.
...kris?
that was all it took. after a moment of pure surprise, brain processing the information, a pout formed over his face, tears welling up in his eyes. had he not been so overwhelmed with... well, everything, he would have asked why the hell he had come to this place, why he didn't stay away like he had said. he didn't ask these things. no, they barely even occurred to him at the moment. all he knew was that his best friend was beside him, that after so much time apart from one another, kris was here, at a moment that was felt so, so uncertain; and all he could do was reach out for their hand.
