ex silentio | ivan goncharov x reader

ᴄᴀʀᴇ

Care

ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴡʜʏ ɪ ꜰɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛꜱ. ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛ ɪᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ. ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪ ɢᴏɪɴɢ? ᴏʜ - ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ɪᴛ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ. ꜱᴏ ʙᴜʏɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴄᴀᴄᴛᴜꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ.

. . .

"O, Master," Ivan held the device near his lips. "There's something I'd like to ask you, if I may."

"I am listening, of course," Fyodor's voice answered.

"What's your opinion on Tchaikovsky's Symphony number six... its end, to be exact?"

. . .

A departure had to arrive on that day, and you bid farewell to Ivan with a tight hug, which he returned without hesitation. A gentleman beyond measure! Perhaps it was a bit too much to hug him on that occasion, but it mattered not, as you felt endless gratitude towards that single man. You made sure to express it. He made you happy - a rat made you happy, o heavens! - and with that, he deserved all that you could possibly afford him.

Or did he make you happy? Was it just the illusion of culture giving you the idea that he cared? Or - in the end, you didn't care, so long he was kind and caring, good, to you. He had the utmost right to treat you like scum, but he didn't, and that surprised you pleasantly. The effect of this experience hadn't faded even as you got into your room and even as you prepared yourself for sleep. You laid down onto the soft cushion of your bed, gripping the covers tightly with both your arms and legs. The face, dry for a while, was buried inside the foamy texture of your pillow, making it hard for you to breathe. You didn't care - a bit of struggle makes everything more interesting. Alone you were with your heavy mind again, the throbbing head of yours not helping one bit, and beneath all of your troubled exterior, there was a heart set ablaze, flustered and shivering, so warm that its flames licked the rest of your being with sensual quaking.

Finding one person to seek comfort in was enough for you. Certainly, it was far more than you, a frail personality, needed and deserved. Raw happiness came from him and you accepted it wholeheartedly, acting as polite as you could, and of course occasionally allowing some gestures to compliment him. He deserved it, he deserved it after all, unlike you, because he understood you, and not only that - he listened. As soon as the symphony ended, as soon as your tears dried, leaving salt on your sensitive skin, he heard your wails, every single one of them. And to every lament he responded rationally, thus breaking the emotion in half, the precipice shocking you with its abrupt clearance. He responded, in fact, he did, so you were content.

Reciprocating one's sadness with equal solace is a talent rare to be seen. It demands not only worry, not only love, not only an ear - it demands the intellect and the comprehension raised from a history of downs, of falling and not getting up; of staying stuck in the mud and dirtying yourself as you thrash around. You wanted to believe that Ivan was similar to you with his very own filth, far more similar and closer than Dostoyevsky, per se - he countered the sorrow with happiness, using the skill of an elegant swordsman, dancing while fencing; whereas Dostoyevsky's blade couldn't even reach your insignificant, belittled self.

He had agreed on meeting you tomorrow morning, so you had the entire night to yourself and your already exhausted imagination. The darkness was yours to liberate your guts in, so you could bleed, bleed as much as you wished, and breathe hastily at the heat of your very own life force that enveloped you alongside all of your monotone surroundings. It left your insides blank, comfortably empty. Who would have known that all the negativity inside of you actually felt like burning, devouring. Ah, you wished, if only you had someone else to envelop you aside from those nightmares, however those fingers may be cold. May they choke your little throat as well - it is a hug of its own kind. A grip, and whatever was to come with it, would make you pleased. The sooner, the better.