Why must sin taste so bitterly sweet (fyozai)

Chapter 12

Today was the day.

The day that this whole thing, this whole mess he'd gotten himself into, would all be over.

The day that he'd finally be free.

The words repeated themselves like a mantra in Fyodor's head as he pulled his shirt on over his head, his room still dark in the early hours of the morning and the house still silent with sleep.

It'd all be over today. He wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

The notion was somewhat comforting to think about, but it also brought with it a sense of overwhelming dread that he just couldn't seem to rid himself of.

He pulled his ushanka over his head, throwing a glance over to his gloves that sat folded neatly on his desk before ultimately deciding against wearing them as he went to rummage around in his desk drawer before promptly making his way downstairs.

Fyodor watched his feet as they landed on each wooden step, making sure to step over the creaky step near the bottom so as to not wake anyone, just like he used to do as a kid when he'd try to sneak up on his mother while she was cooking in the kitchen.

He made his way into the kitchen, finding a pot already set on the stove ready for his mother to make their porridge in a couple of hours, as she usually would. Fyodor felt himself smile at the thought as he went into the cupboard just above the stove and grabbed an apple from the middle shelf.

Leaving the kitchen, Fyodor allowed his fingertips to run across the wooden dining table as he went by, feeling the chip in the wood where Akim had thrown his bowl of porridge back at their mother back when he was only about a year old and the countless dents from where his father had slammed his cutlery down on the table as he yelled.

He sat down in his usual seat, with only the dark walls of the house around him to keep him company as he chewed the fruit, imagining that Akim and his mother were also sitting there with their bowls of porridge and happy smiles that were far too bright for that time of morning. Imaging that Akim was chattering away to him excitedly and that his mother was chiding him for not eating his porridge before it went cold. Imagining that his father had already left out for work and that he'd decided he'd never be returning again.

Once he'd finished and disposed of the apple core, he silently made his way back up the stairs, carefully slipping into Akim's bedroom.

He was fast asleep, snoring softly as he held his stuffed bear (that he'd insisted on naming Fedya) close to his chest.

Fyodor smiled softly at the sight, reaching out to fondly brush his hand against his soft locks of hair as he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He pulled his covers up just a little further, making sure he was tucked in nice and snugly before he left the room to go back downstairs.

He soon found himself at the door, slipping on his boots that sat just beside his father's slightly larger pair that he decided, childishly, to knock over out of spite.

With one last glance back, Fyodor left out through the front door, careful to close it gently behind him as he made his way through the village, finding that the chilling air had finally begun to warm up a little, with the snow feeling somewhat sludgy beneath his feet.

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When Fyodor made his way down to the basement, he could feel a pair of eyes on him, as he usually did.

But it felt strange.

It felt... unfamiliar somehow.

There was a figure, a figure sitting calmly in Osamu's spot. In Osamu's cell. It looked like Osamu. It seemed like Osamu. But something wasn't quite the same.