Lonely Longing I

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Again, Fjodor sat on the bathroom floor. He didn't throw up this time, but the cold of the tiles somehow calmed him down. He leaned against the wall, fiddling in his hair. Suddenly he remembered the day where Nikolai had tied it up. Somehow he could still feel his touch. For a moment, he immersed himself in that sensation. Those gentle fingers stroking back the strands. He closed his eyes and let the touch linger on his skin. Then he rapidly opened his eyes again.

What was he thinking about?

He shook his head. He must have mixed that memory with the one of his sister braiding his hair. That had to be it. Of course it was.

Still confused he stood up and made his way to the cafeteria. Somehow he felt a little better now. At least until he saw Gogol on the dining tables, forcefully turning away as soon as he spotted Fjodor.

Curse that guy. Who needs him anyway?

He bought some bread and left again, to eat in his chamber. But as soon as he entered it, Sigma knocked on the door, putting a stack of new student requests on his desk. A load of work, exactly what he needed now. The whole break he spent on working through the requests, sorting them by possible and impossible ones. When he finished, he felt refreshed. See, nobody needs a Gogol for anything.

When he got home again, he let himself fall on his bed. He felt the urge to move to another flat. It felt contaminated now. Then he thought about how Gogol should have actually stayed here. He buried his face in his pillow.

Stop.thinking.about.Gogol

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