[ a demonstration of desire—gogol's, not his own because fyodor's own inner logic is twisted but this particular act was solely intended for his dearest, most intimate friend. this all was also perhaps to warn him off from those sentiments from before—incomprehensible affection, indeed! fyodor feels offended at the phrasing, though he's not sure why it should bother him to begin with. perhaps, it is the willful blindness gogol seems to have committed himself to in this respect. there is a certain murkiness of the waters here, and fyodor has no desire to peer in further than he must. he's found that any slivers of humanity are utterly exhausting to experience himself.
beneath that firm grip his own bones creak in protest, he feels the promise of a broken wrist, of broken bones. it'll bruise, it'll bruise hard, he knows it even as he holds onto the letter opener for a tad longer than it is advisable. then it clatters to the floor between them, bodies close. gogol is a brave man to hold a viper at this distance, the specks of bright red staining their clothing as fyodor goes seemingly limp like a fish and leans right into gogol. at this distance, at all these points of contact, crime and punishment would be lethal before the overcoat even came into play. but fyodor isn't interested in murdering his dear friend here, in broad daylight. instead he leans into him, taunting, promising, denying. ]
I did not miss you. [ because fyodor is petty and he does not miss anyone, ever. the bag with all those trinkets is trapped between them now and fyodor has the audacity to smile, even as his wrist throbs. ] I am merely helping you understand your own feelings.
no subject
beneath that firm grip his own bones creak in protest, he feels the promise of a broken wrist, of broken bones. it'll bruise, it'll bruise hard, he knows it even as he holds onto the letter opener for a tad longer than it is advisable. then it clatters to the floor between them, bodies close. gogol is a brave man to hold a viper at this distance, the specks of bright red staining their clothing as fyodor goes seemingly limp like a fish and leans right into gogol. at this distance, at all these points of contact, crime and punishment would be lethal before the overcoat even came into play. but fyodor isn't interested in murdering his dear friend here, in broad daylight. instead he leans into him, taunting, promising, denying. ]
I did not miss you. [ because fyodor is petty and he does not miss anyone, ever. the bag with all those trinkets is trapped between them now and fyodor has the audacity to smile, even as his wrist throbs. ] I am merely helping you understand your own feelings.