Chapter Text
Chapter 2
During their work at the library, Ivan calmed himself and argued internally that it was probably fine if Nikolai went and had coffee with Pyotr. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Yes, maybe Pyotr was not to be trusted, but Ivan doubted that one coffee would do a whole lot of damage.
He also almost managed to convince himself that it was not an issue that Nikolai had had Pyotr’s number the entire time.
After their lecture, Nikolai and Ivan went their separate ways. Alexei had never shown up, only sending Nikolai a short text that he was held up by an absurdly long queue in the supermarket, which had tired him out too much to seek more socialisatian that day. A shame, really - after all, Ivan always found Alexei's presence to be calming. He went straight home, feeling hungry and tired. He and Nikolai lived in the same house, but in different flats. Ivan’s was up on the sixth floor, which was an inconvenience since the elevator was broken more often than it was not. Still, he reminded himself every time he went up the stairs that he should be thankful to have a flat at all, and one completely to himself. Other people did not have a roof over their head, or had flats full of vermin, or they had to share their accommodations with many others….
He knew it was a reflection of a flaw of his character that he had not yet changed his living arrangements to humbler quarters. He should be living in a tiny room in a flat with three or four flatmates, that would suit him better. A few times, he had almost picked up the phone to ask Varvara Petrovna about it. But, but. He was not sure he would be able to explain to her what he wanted. She could be a bit difficult in regards to certain things, and Ivan was sure that she would be irritated by such a display of humility. Not that she was prone to excess, not at all. But she had no sense for self-abandonment, for sacrifice, at least not in that way. For her son perhaps, yes, but not for God, not for her soul. And so, she would not be understanding of his need to humble himself.
Stepan Trofimovich had once ranted to Ivan about this particular streak in her character, saying that she had no sense for the noble, the sublime. That she was far too earth-bound, too practical. Ivan was inclined to agree, though he had a very hard time imagining that Stepan Trofimoviche’s rather pathos-laden, tear-filled rantings had anything more to do with the sublime than Varvara Petrovna’s expedient conduct.
Either way, he still lived in his flat. In the same house as Nikolai. He also argued with himself that it was probably good to keep living so close to Nikolai. They met at least once a week to pray together (or, they had done that in the last semester, but they had somehow not managed to find a day to do it this semester), and in general…Ivan felt uneasy when he thought about living too far away from Nikolai. Not that he thought Nikolai needed to be constantly attended to like a toddler, of course not, just…
He pushed the thought away and made himself dinner with bread and cheese.
***
“How about the canteen?”
Ivan looked up from his backpack, which he was shoving his notepad into. “Hm?”
Nikolai next to him shrugged. “I’m hungry. And we only have two hours until the next lecture, there’s hardly any point in going to the library. Or home.”
Ivan hesitated, then took his backpack and stood up. “Okay. I’m not very hungry, but I guess I can get a salad.”
He followed Nikolai out of the building and to the other side of the street. The canteen was a big dining hall with a lot of small tables strewn all over the room. At this time, it was relatively crowded. Still, they managed to find a table and sit down. Nikolai went first to get his food, then Ivan. He decided that eating a small salad was probably okay – after all, there wasn’t any meat in it, so it was pretty frugal affair.
Probably. He hoped so.
Nikolai seemed to be in a neutral mood today, which was good. Ivan wanted to break the question about their weekly prayer, hopefully securing one stable day a week when they could meet. At Nikolai’s flat, just the two of them.
But when he returned to the table, his mood sank.
Verkhovensky. Verkhovensky, in his bright clothes and goddamned eyeliner, already talking a mile a minute, holding Nikolai’s eyes as he was sitting next to him.
Ivan cursed under his breath and stomped back to the table. He roughly sat down his salad bowl and glared at Pyotr. “Pyotr Stepanovich.”
The other gave him a disgustingly bright smile. “Ah, Ivan Pavlovich! How good to see you again! Did you sleep badly?! You are making a face as if you had not slept in days! I do hope you are not coming down with the flu?!”
How could a person speak in a way that the exclamation marks were audible?
“I am fine. And not sick. Where are your friends sitting? We wouldn’t want to keep you from them”, Ivan growled and stabbed his salad.
“Awwww, what a kind and considerate thought of you!” Pyotr Stepanovich clapped his hands together. “But I can ease your conscience, I am indeed alone here! And Nikolai Vsevolodovich here was so kind as to offer me room at your table!”
Ivan suppressed a groan and decided to just ignore the man. Maybe that would make him go away. Or at least spare Ivan the headache.
It seemed to be working insofar as that Verkhovensky’s attention immediately drifted back to Nikolai. “As I was saying, Nikolai – “
Ivan focused on his salad and did his best to ignore the trivial chatter that flew like water out of the other man’s mouth. Nikolai hummed from time to time, but he let Pyotr talk. He had probably checked out, too, and was now only waiting for Pyotr to leave them again.
As Ivan looked up from his salad, however, he spotted a familiar figure at the other side of the room. Alexei Nilych looked a bit fallen out of time with his black and shabby clothes that looked more appropriate for a 19th century worker than a 21st century student. Only the food tray he was holding cemented him vaguely in modern times. He was obviously looking around the room to see if there was space somewhere. Ivan sat up straight and waved at him.
When Alexei noticed him, his face relaxed a little and he came over.
“Hey”, Ivan said loudly, interrupting Verkhovensky’s monologue as if by accident. “Alexei. Do you want to sit with us?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Alexei sat down, then looked at the other two people at the table. “Nikolai.”
“Hey.” Nikolai gave him a nod, then gestured towards Pyotr, who was eying the newcomer with curiosity. “This is Pyotr Stepanovich. Verkhovensky. Son of my mother’s dear personal friend.” He smiled a little smile, and Ivan could see Pyotr rolling his eyes. Good. Remind him of his father, if that annoyed him.
“Hello.” Alexei nodded at him. “Alexei Nilych.” Then, without further ado, he started eating his soup.
“What were you saying?” Nikolai looked at Pyotr, undoubtedly just to be polite, not because he actually cared about what the other was saying. But Pyotr was now looking at Alexei’s profile as if he was thinking hard.
“I think I know you”, he said after a few seconds.
Alexei looked up at him, surprised. “I can’t remember that we have met.”
“No, not personally. Do you know Shigalyev?”
“Doesn’t…ring a bell.”
“Tall guy? Light hair? Rat-faced and always looks like his bus was twenty minutes late?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Is your last name Kirillov?”
“Yes.”
“Then he is in one of your courses. Or, was. Last semester. He told me about you. You were the one in that seminar about the ethics of assisted suicide who held a nearly twenty-minute monologue about why people should be allowed to kill themselves if they so choose.” Pyotr shrugged. “Shigalyev said he was impressed but that most people there found you obnoxious and annoying. Disturbing, even.”
“Aha.” Alexei seemed not really to know what to do with that information. Ivan opened his mouth to tell Verkhovensky not to be so rude and shut up, when Alexei continued: “Well, it was me. I wanted them to understand what I meant. I did not notice I was talking so long.”
Pyotr’s frown disappeared and he leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Ah, believe me, I am no stranger to talking. But what a curious topic to talk so long about! Truly Hamletian, no?”
Alexei’s cheeks flushed. “I just thought, I think, that if a person…if a person is suffering so much, that they should, they should have the right, no, they have the right to do what they want with their life. And that includes ending it… And if they cannot do so and ask a friend or a doctor, someone they trust, well, why should it be called murder?”
“Great that we've arrived at the heavy topics alteady”, Nikolai interjected with a chuckle. He had crossed his legs, one elbow resting on the arm of his chair, his chin in his hand. He looked warm, eyes glittering a little.
“Ah, I am so sorry if that bores you, Nikolai Vsevolodovich!” Pyotr piped, quickly looking at him.
“No, no, go on. I am perfectly content with this.”
“But I am not,” Ivan intervened, tapping his fork against his salad bowl. “I don’t think this is a conversation for a lunch table. And in general, it is tasteless to talk about people murdering themselves.”
Pyotr’s eyes narrowed a little, though his lips stayed in a saccharine smile. “Right, right, I forgot that you – both of you – are very faithful Christians. Why again is it a sin, Ivan Pavlovich?”
It felt like bait in a way, and Ivan ground his teeth. Still, he adopted a cool and collected tone and answered: “It is an act of blasphemy – rejecting God’s creation, rejecting his gift. Thomas Aquinas said it is one without repentance, and I am inclined to agree.”
“Really? So, if someone is suffering, if someone has reached the end of their rope, if someone feels the need to end their life – “
“God will eventually forgive them – probably”, Ivan interjected, already seeing where Pyotr’s argument was going, “but it was still a violation of Him. If you are suffering, get help. Or learn to bear it. People have probably survived worse than whatever you are dealing with…not to mention the, the redemptive power of suffering…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling awkward. He disliked that Verkhovensky had led him down this path. It sounded almost heartless when he said it out loud. But of course, if one did not understand at all, it would sound heartless…
“We can also talk about anything else”, Nikolai said. It sounded uncharacteristically gentle, and Ivan threw him a thankful look, only to see that Nikolai was looking at Pyotr, eyes half-lidded. The demon looked back at him, first a bit surprised, then his face relaxed.
Silence hung over the table for a moment. Ivan swallowed and concentrated on his salad, shovelling a few leaves into his mouth. Nikolai cleared his throat.
Surprisingly, it was Alexei who broke the silence: “My brother sent me a package. It came yesterday.”
Ivan looked up and swallowed. “You have a brother?” For some reason, he had never imagined that Alexei had any sort of family. He seemed like a person made out of clay, one of these slightly funny looking stop-motion figures from a movie like Coraline, brought into the world by a creative and slightly unhinged mind rather than by a woman and a man joining each other in bed.
“Yes. Misha. He lives in Germany at the moment. Berlin.”
“Wow”, Pyotr said. He sounded mildly interested. “What did he send you?”
“Tea.”
“Just tea?”
“I like tea.” Alexei hesitated. He was looking at his bowl and seemed uncertain. Ivan thought that he had always gotten the impression that Alexei was not good around people. Unfortunately, Ivan was no better – horrible at small talk and awkward in conversation, most of the time. Finally, Alexei looked at Pyotr. “Do you…have siblings?”
Pyotr snorted. “Heaven’s, no. Still a wonder that my father managed to reproduce even once.”
“And you?” Alexei looked at Ivan.
“Yes, a sister. Darya.” He smiled a little as he thought of his sister. “She’s a bit younger than me and still in school. In our hometown. She’s very smart and wants to go into medicine, maybe become a nurse or even a doctor!” His sister was smart, yes, a quiet girl who most people assumed was sweet. Ivan knew that that was not always the case, unfortunately. Darya had not objected to his religious conviction at first, and she had never directly said anything about it. Just, with time, she had become sceptical, in a way she did not verbalise but which was obvious through her demeanour.
They got along fine when he was home, but it felt more like making polite conversation with distant relatives than an exchange between siblings.
“That sounds nice”, Alexei said.
“Well, we all know that YOU do not have any siblings, Nikolai Vsevolodovich”, Pyotr chirped, turning back to Nikolai.
“That’s true.”
“Although – do you want to know something funny? When I was small and a little confused, there was actually a time when I assumed that you and I, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, were siblings! Or, half-siblings, at least!” Pyotr laughed a little shrilly at Nikolai raising his eyebrows. “See, my dad always talked a great deal about you when he called me – he hardly ever visited my mother and me, and only later he started writing me these awfully long letters. He gushed and gushed about your progress, what a smart boy you where, how wonderfully you were coming along. Really, I might have gotten jealous, had I cared about his affection.”
The laugh that followed the words was too high, too affected. It made Ivan’s stomach clench.
“So, I kind of subconsciously thought that you might be another one of his off-springs, and wondered if I should ever meet my half-brother.”
Nikolai chuckled and let his hand sink, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table. He did not look annoyed, rather amused, though there was something else in his eyes that Ivan thought weirdly unfitting for the situation. “Well, I can say that while I never met my father, since he died when I was very young, I have seen pictures of him, and we look almost uncannily similar. I guess I have to disappoint you, Pyotr Stepanovich.”
There was a playful lilt to the words that confused Ivan.
“I am not disappointed, I am not disappointed at all, Nikolai Vsevolodovich”, Pyotr laughed. “It is a great thing if my father’s bloodline does not live on! But you, are you disappointed? That we are not brothers, that we don’t share the same blood?” He tilted his head to the side and smiled wide. Was there a nervous trace around his eyes, or was Ivan imagining that?
Nikolai snorted, then shook his head. “No, no, I am not disappointed.”
He looked at his plate, then suddenly laughed. “I just remembered a novel… Ada or Ardour, by Vladimir Nabokov. Do you know it? No? Ah, nothing…There is also a complicated family situation in there, that is all. I would prefer it if reality did not mirror fiction in this case. Interesting as that might be.”
He laughed again. Ivan had been frowning the whole time, and now shifted on his seat. He had not heard of that particular novel, but he was vaguely familiar with Nabokov, particularly his rather…perverted ideas.
The idea that any part of their situation reminded Nikolai of anything by Nabokov made Ivan's stomach clench.
***
It was quite late in the evening when Ivan suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to ask Nikolai about their prayers. During lunch, he had not wanted to open the topic because Verkhovensky had been there, and he would have certainly made stupid jokes about it.
Of course, Nikolai would have told him to shut up. Of course. Ivan did not doubt that. But…there was no need to press it.
With a sigh, he got up from his desk where he had worked through a text for another class, and grabbed his bible. It was a normal Tuesday, so Nikolai would probably be home. Ivan left his flat and went downstairs where he knocked on Nikolai’s door.
It took a bit until Nikolai opened, and Ivan already regretted not texting him beforehand. But once he saw his friend, he exhaled.
“Hey. Kolya.” He tried to smile easily, but it turned into an awkward grimace.
“Hey. What’s up?” Nikolai asked and leaned against the doorframe. He was dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, his glasses on his nose. Ivan had always thought that the glasses suited him, though Nikolai disagreed in that regard. He usually wore contact lenses outside, and only when he was home alone did he put on his glasses. Ivan knew that he was one of the few people who got to see Nikolai in such a state. That knowledge always filled him with an inexplicable joy.
“I was thinking”, Ivan said and waved his bible, “that we haven’t started our weekly prayers this semester. So, uh, better late than never, right? We could just do it right now?”
Nikolai seemed to stiffen a little bit for a moment, but then he cast his eyes down and shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”
Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. Okay. Nothing had changed. Good.
He followed Nikolai into the flat. It was quite messy, with clothes lying in random piles on the floor and dirty dishes standing here and there. Ivan also guessed that Nikolai had not vaccummed for a few weeks. He bit his tongue, not wanting to nag his friend right now.
“How do you want to do it?” Nikolai asked.
“Like last semester - I think we were doing good?” Ivan swallowed, hating how uncertain he sounded. He should be used to all of this by now. Should be more comfortable with a praying routine.
“Okay. Sure.” Nikolai shrugged. He went over to the bookshelf and took his bible out. It was the same one Ivan had, and it was similarly specked with sticky notes and post-its as his.
They knelt down on the floor in front of the cross that was hanging on Nikolai's wall. Ivan cleared his throat.
“Okay, uh, like last time? First we each talk about our sins and then what were grateful for?”
“Sure.” Nikolai sounded neutral. He was not quite meeting Ivan's eyes, but perhaps he was just thinking about what he wanted to say already.
Ivan cleared his throat and folded his hands. Took a moment to center himself. “Dear god”, he finally said. “This week, I have sinned, and I beg for your forgiveness. I…. I have been arrogant and judgemental.” Involuntarily, he fought of Verkhovensky. His thoughts always became judgemental around him, but was it really a sin if it was true? Ah, no matter. Who was he to decide? “I have not truly appreciated what you have given me. I have been greedy and…uhm, yeah, greedy.” He clenched his teeth. If only he was better with his words! “I beg for your forgiveness. I thank you for everything you have done for me. I am thankful for my friends and the roof over my head and my warm flat. I am thankful for….”
He felt Nikolai looking at him. It was distracting, in a way he could not explain. Almost, he turned to him to reprimand him - they should look at the cross or close their eyes. “I am thankful for…” But maybe Nikolai was just taking him as an example? Modeling his own confession after Ivan's? Then Ivan should try to make a good example. “I am thankful for your guidance and understanding. I am thankful for your grace. I am grateful that you are keeping me humble and happy. Thank you, father, for having mercy on me, a sinner…”
“If you keep being this forward, Verkhovensky, someone is going to give you a good trashing one day.”
“Then I only hope they’ll have mercy on a poor sinner and be sufficiently gentle with me.”
“So, you prefer it gentle?”
Ivan shook his head. Where had that stupid memory come from? Why couldn't he focus, why did he have to be so distracted? It made him want to slap himself.
“And help me not to sin more. Amen.” He ended rather sloppily, in his mind. But he had tried, and did that not count for anything?
It had to. But probably not for as much as he would have liked.
He crossed himself, then cleared his throat and looked at Nikolai, who flinched a bit, as if startled. He shook his head, his hands tightly clenched, and looked up at the cross.
He opened his mouth.
“Father….”
For a few seconds, he just sat there, his mouth open. Ivan waited with baited breath.
Nikolai closed his mouth. More seconds went by.
When Ivan was about to ask if everything was alright, Nikolai again turned to him.
“Sorry, I….do you mind if I do it silently? I kind of… I'm having trouble finding words right now.”
Ivan frowned. Usually, Nikolai was more eloquent than him, talking with a grace and elegance that made Ivan believe he should be up on a pulpit, preaching to a congregation. Why was he now so uncertain?
The coffee with Pyotr…no, that was ridiculous. One meeting could not have been enough for Verkhovensky to steal Nikolai's words, his conviction. No, Nikolai was just out of practice. That was all. It was something that could happen to anyone.
“Uh, sure. I mean, god hears it all. And if that helps you, then…sure!”
Ivan did not say that part of the point of praying together was to discuss it all afterwards. Nikolai knew that, of course.
They sat in silence for roughly a minute, before Nikolai nodded and let his hands sink. “Amen”, he murmured, like an afterthought, then quickly crossed himself before sighing and carding a hand through his hair, eyes unfocused.
“Well, uh. Good job.” Ivan nodded awkwardly. Nikolai shrugged, not looking at him. “Uh, so. Do you want to. You know. Talk about it.”
“Sure.” Nikolai sighed. “Why do you think you were arrogant?”
Ivan frowned. “I don't think I was arrogant, I was arrogant.”
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” Another sigh from Nikolai. He pulled his glasses off and started cleaning them on his t-shirt. “Okay, so how were you arrogant?”
“I was thinking too highly of myself. I, uh, I thought I was better than others, and that I deserved more from God.”
“Really. Like what?” Nikolai's eyes looked tired without the glasses. Ivan wondered if he was really having sleeping problems.
“I…well, I was wishing for God to spend more time with me, guide me more.”
“Isn't that the point?” Was he imagining things, or did Nikolai's voice sound sarcastic?
“Kolya, you know what I mean. I was thinking I deserved more from God. More than I've already been given.”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He shook his head, then put his glasses back on. “Sorry. I've got a headache. Maybe we should stop for today.”
Ivan's heart sank. “Same time next week?”
“M-maybe… I'm not sure… maybe on Monday, would that work?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I don't really have other plans.”
“Okay. Cool.” Nikolai tilted his head back and rolled his neck. “Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me lately.”
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Not particularly.” He shrugged once more.
Ivan nodded, uncertain what else to say. Finally, he could not help himself. “How did it go with Verkhovensky?”
“Hm?” Nikolai looked honestly surprised at the question. “What? Oh, the coffee?”
“Yes…”
“It was a coffee. I don't know. He talked a lot and then we said goodbye. What was supposed to happen, the floor opening up under us and us being sucked straight to hell?” Now he definetly sounded sarcastic and irritated.
“Obviously not”, Ivan replied, now sounding irritated himself, as he noticed with a painful stab, “He just has a way to him that's not… and also, he, uhm. I think he - you know, I think he may be….you know…”
Nikolai finally looked at him, then rolled his eyes. “Dude, I'm aware that he's gay. He doesn't exactly hide that.”
Ivan flinched, then coughed, feeling awkward. “Yeah, okay. Good. Good that you know, I mean. And, uh. You know. He may be…uhm…”
Abruptly, Nikolai stood up and went back to the bookshelf, placing his bible there again. “Vanya, I have a headache and I'm tired. Verkhovensky is just some idiot, okay? Don't worry about him so much. Or about me. I'm okay.”
“Okay”, Ivan said sheepishly and got up quick. He felt the tips of his ears burning, though he was not sure why. “Okay, uh. Then we'll see each other tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sure. Maybe.” Nikolai exhaled. “I'll stay home if this headache gets worse. I'll text you. Good night.”
“Good night, Kolya. Sleep well”, Ivan mumbled. He tripped over his own feet as he left Nikolai's flat, and hurried back to his own, feeling a vague sense of shame hanging over him. He could only hope that Nikolai would feel good enough to come to university tomorrow. He did not like the idea of being there without him.