Why must sin taste so bitterly sweet (fyozai)

Chapter 8

word count: 2371

TW for descriptions of self harm

A few days passed by without much of note happening between the two of them, despite the air of unease that had been surrounding them ever since Osamu had spoken of its father; their interactions had remained strangely normal. Osamu had not brought the subject up since, and Fyodor, strangely enough, didn't feel as if it would be correct for him to do so either; despite the barely audible voice in the back of his mind clamouring and begging for him to investigate, to satisfy its yearning curiosity, he had decided not to broach the topic any further.

Fyodor reluctantly sat up in his bed with a groan; the blanket drawn over him felt as if it were made of lead, and the air around him felt stuffy and near unbreathable as it entered his lungs. His hand quickly went up to cradle his head as it pounded away in his ears. He'd had trouble getting to sleep the night before, having had the most genius idea of starting a new novel right before he would usually sleep, and so he was running on perhaps 2 hours worth of semi-decent sleep at best. Today was certainly not off to a good start for him.

With a deep breath, Fyodor slowly clambered out of his warm bed, making his way out of his room into the hallway, where the air seemed strangely fresher than usual.

He soon found himself sat at the kitchen table once again, his father thankfully having already left out for work once again. "Good morning, Fedya!" Came his mother's voice from the kitchen as she peeked around the doorway. Fyodor gave her a small wave along with a smile before resting his head on the table as he waited for his breakfast from hell to be served. His head continued to throb away as he sat there, wishing he'd never picked up that novel in the first place. He'd managed to make it around to another weekend, so he'd more than likely be able to catch a couple more hours of sleep when he returned, but he'd still have to go out for upkeep duty feeling like nothing more than a living corpse.

He felt himself begin to drift off a little when he was startled awake by the thud of a bowl landing in front of him, yet another bowlful of his mother's wonderful porridge, though on second glance the bowl looked only to be half as full as it were usually "If you'd like some more, just ask Fedya; you look quite tired today. Just make sure you eat as much as you can manage, ok?" His mother told him with a warm smile, which Fyodor returned gratefully, "Of course mother, thank you." He replied before taking a spoonful and slowly posting it into his mouth as she watched. She left the room with a pleased hum, heading upstairs to fetch Akim as Fyodor managed to just about get himself to swallow down another couple of spoonfuls of the lumpy concoction before promptly leaving the table to go and get himself ready.

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His feet felt unsteady beneath him as he made his way through the village, only adding to his growing irritation as he tried his best to ignore the chatter and various loud noises throughout the market as he passed through; each additional sound only made his headache grow worse and worse by the second. He was sure he must have had a foul-looking expression gracing his face in that moment considering not one of the people he'd passed by had tried to bother him whatsoever, for which he was incredibly grateful as he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to keep himself from screaming at anyone who dared to speak to him.

Eventually, Fyodor arrived in front of the stone building, finding the creature's wife sitting in her husband's old chair, fast asleep just as it had always been too. He spotted the keys over on a nearby side table, likely having been left there for him. Grabbing the keys, Fyodor made his way into the back room to collect the bread and water.