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Fyodor returned to the basement the next day to find Osamu not sitting waiting for him in its usual place, instead it was curled up over in the corner where he had first found it, facing the wall just as it had been the first time he had met those beautifully dull chestnut eyes. "Osamu? Whatever are you doing over there?" He called with a tad of amusement from the doorway as he slotted the key into the rusted keyhole. He dropped the bread, this time garnished with just a little butter he'd managed to swipe, and the tankard of water over on the windowsill, quickly dashing upstairs to empty out the bucket before moving to undo Osamu's restraints, allowing the chains to fall to the damp ground with a relatively soft clinking sound.
"Bathing Ceremony," came Osamu's voice.
It never ceased to send shivers down Fyodor's spine every time Osamu spoke to him, its voice remaining calm and smooth ever since the first time it had spoken to him, no matter the situation. It was a symphony of pure euphoria to his ears. As if he were listening to the soft, holy voice of an angel whispering gently into his ear.
"Ah, I assume the dilute acid wasn't all that pleasant." He chuckled as he sat himself down beside it, Osamu sent him a glare which only made the situation seem even funnier to him as he continued to chuckle away. Silence grew between them as Osamu got to work on eating its bread, tossing Fyodor a grateful look, as if felt the salty taste of butter against its tongue. Fyodor filled the time pulling at any loose threads he could find on his gloves, twisting them around before snapping them from the main parts of the fabric and discarding them on the damp floor below.
"Fyodor." Osamu broke the comfortable silence,
"Hm?" Fyodor hummed in response.
"Can I ask, just what is it that makes you and I so different? As in, why am I sitting down here in this rotten old cell while you're living above the ground among others?" Osamu asked with a furrowed brow.
"My dear Osamu. Have you learnt nothing in your time here with us? You are a creature of sin, an abomination beyond repair by the hands of mere mortal human beings such as myself. You are sitting here in this cell as we are preparing you to be taken to our lord, for him to help you and fix you in ways that we cannot. Do you not understand that?" Fyodor recited, the entire spiel flowing out as if it were second nature to him.
"But how are you so sure that I am a so-called 'creature of sin'? Could your people not have made some sort of mistake in bringing me here?" Osamu challenged.
"I do wonder that myself sometimes." Fyodor muttered thoughtfully
"If I am a 'creature of sin' and you are apparently not, then why is it that you are so entertained by me? If you constantly engage with me, if you are as unbelievably fascinated by me as you are, how is it that you are not a creature of at least a similar nature to me? Is what you are doing right now not considered horribly wrong and disgraceful by your people?"
Silence ensued.
Fyodor didn't say a word as he reached for the restraints without once meeting the sinner's eyes, snapping the cuffs back around its wrists and fitting the muzzle around its face.
His gloved hand went out to tilt the sinner's head to look up at him. "You truly are fascinating, you know, Osamu." He let the sinner's face fall from his grasp as he got up to leave the cell.
"Perhaps I am just as much a sinner as you are," He muttered as he left with a sullen expression on his face.
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Fyodor sat in his usual spot beneath the trees during his lunch break with a perplexed expression on his face, lying on his blanket and staring up at the glaringly bright sun above that just couldn't seem to melt the snow and ice that had blanketed the entire courtyard for months now.
"Is the Sinner correct in what it says? Have I truly abandoned you, my Lord?" He muttered to the pale blue sky above as he reached out his hand above him. "Perhaps I have? What other explanation could there be for this sick yearning buried deep in my chest, my Lord? For the gruesome pull that continues to draw me ever closer to the damnation of eternal flames. For the horrific allure of such a sinful being. A creature that I once considered to be nought but a pitiful caricature of myself, unknowingly drowning itself in rivers of sin as it sits stealing breaths of pure air made possible only by the Lord's magnificent domain. But now, as I discover more and more seems to be becoming so much more similar to my own self."
He was unsure as to why the Sinner's words had struck such a chord with him. Why was he questioning himself like this? Why was he questioning his Lord like this? Why was his image of Osamu beginning to seem more and more like an image of himself with every day that passes?
He did his best to push these thoughts aside as he stood and began making his way to class but no matter what he did they still continued to claw away at the walls of his skull, clamouring to be heard over the dull drivel of his mathematics teacher.
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After school he had decided to wander around town rather aimlessly for a while, he had visited the park his mother had always used to take him to and sat on the swings for a little while, scaring off any of the young children that wanted to use them themselves. He'd sat there staring blankly at the floor below him as he rocked ever so slightly back and forth for what he imagined was around an hour or so as concerned parents of children playing on the other equipment glanced his way or even came up to him to ask if he were alright as one or two did. He simply waved them off without saying a word, watching his feet shifting minutely as they pushed the swing back and forth.
Standing up from the swing with a sigh, Fyodor began to make his way back home. He didn't dare stay any longer. He knew they'd probably be having dinner a little earlier than usual tonight, and he didn't particularly want to find out how his father would react to him showing up late.
He found out as he passed by the clock tower that he had, in fact, been at the park for closer to two hours than to one; the discovery made him pause in disbelief for a moment before he immediately began to quicken his pace, his heart beginning to pound away heavily in his chest. There was no way he'd be getting off lightly on this one. Today was the day his father had invited his fiancé over for dinner. He'd said something or other about having news to share with the two of them. Showing up late to something like this where he'd be embarrassing his father in front of someone else? He might as well have been begging for death.
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"Fedya! You're here just in time. Your father should be arriving any minute now." His mother greeted him cheerfully, wrapping him in a tight embrace as he burst in through the door, slightly out of breath. "He got a little caught up at work, but he won't be much longer, I believe."
Fyodor let out a sigh of relief as he wound his own arms around her to return the embrace. "Come! come! Arina has been waiting for you," She told him as she took a hold of his hand and began dragging him towards the dining room while he did his best to kick his shoes off as he moved and somehow managed to fling his coat up on its hook as they passed by it.
They stopped outside of the door as his mother looked at him expectantly. Fyodor chuckled. "I suppose I shouldn't leave her waiting." He commented as he pushed open the door, "You're such a good little gentleman, aren't you Fedya?" his mother smiled before heading back to the kitchen to check on the food.
He entered the room to find his fiancé sitting at the table with his younger brother, cooing and fussing over him as he babbled on about what he'd done that day to her. "Fedya! Fedya, you're back!" Akim called in delight as he slid down from his seat and ran over to him, wrapping his arms around his leg as he smiled up at him. "Yes yes hello Akim, I'm glad to see you too." He greeted him with a fond smile as he scooped him up in his arms, plopping him back down in his seat before taking up his own beside Arina.
She gave him a nervous little wave as he sat down, which he returned before the two of them fell into an awkward silence. They'd only ever really had around ten or so full length conversations with one another in total. They had known each other since they'd first been enrolled in Sunday school at the age of four, but they had never really spoken to one another until their parents had tried to not so subtly hint that they were intent on them being a couple. He did rather like Arina, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. Despite their lack of communication, she got along well with Akim; she was ever so kind to just about everyone around her; she was incredibly beautiful, and she was also rather intelligent. He didn't particularly mind the prospect of marrying her, just as he didn't particularly mind most things in his life. He'd be happy enough to live out his life with her. He'd rather her than any other girl in the village.
Fyodor felt his body tense up as he heard the door slamming over in the hallway and the sound of shoes being discarded somewhere along the way, he heard his father head off to the kitchen, likely to ask his mother how the food was coming along before hearing the footsteps approaching the dining room. He straightened up his posture and sat with his eyes glued to the door as it swung open, watching like a hawk as his father entered and sat in his place at the table's head. The feeling of his father's eyes fanning over him and scrutinising every detail made sweat bead on the back of his neck as he glanced up nervously at him. Surprisingly to find what seemed to be approval hiding behind his eyes. He didn't have a chance to ponder what he'd seen further as his mother reentered the room with their meal, taking up her place beside his father, after laying the dishes out across the table.
Conversation began to slowly bleed into the prior silence, mostly lead by his mother asking Arina a number of questions about her family and her interests while his father nodded in approval at one or two of her answers.
Fyodor mostly phased their words out, allowing himself to retreat back into the safe haven of his mind, clouded by a thick curtain of fog as he chewed the chunks of mutton and slices of carrot his mother had cooked for them all.
His father had done nothing even remotely alarming so far. And it was setting him on edge. He knew there was no way things could go this well, there was bound to be something that'd go wrong, and yet he had no idea what it would be. There was no sign of what was going to happen. But he just knew there'd be something.
It was completely terrifying.
He tuned back in as he heard his father loudly clearing his throat, the conversations from before quickly fading out as everyone turned to look at him.
"We have arranged a date for your wedding." He announced.
His fiancé immediately broke out into a wide grin. "Isn't that great Fyodor? When will it be Mr Dostoyevsky?" She asked excitedly. "We've set it for the 7th of march." Came his father's voice as his expectant gaze fell upon the couple.
Fyodor sat there blinking, staring blankly at the table for a moment as he let himself catch up on what had just happened. "Thank you, father." He breathed out hurriedly, glad to have caught the mistake. "Thank you sir," Arina repeated with a slight bow of her head.
He still stared on at him. Looking as if he were expecting more, Fyodor's mind immediately began to panic as it tried to figure out what he'd missed through the fog that'd been clouding it.
Apparently, he took a moment more than his father considered prudent to realise his mistake in his haze.
"How could you not thank the Lord for this great opportunity he has provided you with? For bringing you and Arina together and allowing you both to be joined together as one under his holy blessing?" He gritted out as he stood from his seat, striding over to their side of the table with unbridled rage practically dripping from his sharpened pupils. Fyodor could only watch on in terror as the man's figure approached him, towering menacingly over his spindly form.
He sent prayers in his mind to the Lord above for his father to please show him mercy, for him to forgive his terrible mistake, for him to do something, anything to stop this.
He knew it was too much to ask.
He stayed limp as his father yanked him up by the collar and stared down into his widened eyes.
"How dare you disgrace this family with your appalling lack of faith? With your utterly disgusting lack of gratitude for the very being who gave you everything, who gave you life! NO SON OF MINE WILL EVER BEHAVE SO DISGRACEFULLY UNDER THIS ROOF!"
Tears ran into streams of blood as his head throbbed away on the hardwood floor of the dining room, forming a watery puddle just within his eyes' view. He watched as it grew and grew with every drop that hit its surface, finding the softness of the dripping sound amusing in its contrast to everything else that'd happened. It dripped and dripped and dripped as his vision began to slowly fade to black until it was finally swallowed up by the darkness.