Fyodor Dostoevsky

It all started with Nikolai's foolish proposal.

When that silver-haired clown jubilantly announced, “Let’s all go back to our hometown for the best winter ever!”, you glimpsed from the corner of your eye that Fyodor’s smile didn't falter in the slightest, but you knew, he was already getting impatient.

Sure enough, he uttered the coldest rejection in the gentlest tone, and casually packed up the poor casino manager and handed him over to Nikolai, under the guise of “wishing you a pleasant journey”.

Then, this bastard plunged himself into the basement, transforming into some kind of subterranean creature that subsisted on black tea.

Thank goodness there wasn't a "longest time without sleep" challenge, or he would have won the Guinness World Record.

The result was obvious. He ran himself into the ground.

When you found him delirious with fever, clutching tightly to your clothes while trying to persuade you to help him finish the final step of his work, you finally couldn't bear it anymore.

As it happened, Nikolai called from far away in Siberia, and amidst a cacophony of “Wow! A reindeer! Sigma, look!”, he gave you a rotten idea.

And so, your superior, the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead, the founder of the terrorist organization “Decay of the Angel”, was “kidnapped” by his lover-cum-subordinate—that is, you—along with two accomplices, and brought to this warm wooden cabin in Siberia.

As for Fyodor himself, he cheerfully called it a “kidnapping”, and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this crime of being under your control.

"May the Lord forgive this violent and merciless sinner." He made the sign of the cross for you in a solemn-looking manner.

---

Now, he was half-reclining on the sofa, the top two buttons of his usually immaculate white shirt undone, looking somewhat disheveled.

He was loosely wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket, yet still unable to fend off the bone-deep chill of his illness, curled up on the sofa by the fireplace like a black cat that fears the cold.

His black hair clung messily to his pale forehead, and those usually unfathomable violet eyes were now clouded with a film of moisture due to the high fever, giving him a rare, fragile sense of vulnerability.

He had just finished the medicine you forced him to take, and was now staring at you with an accusatory gaze, as if you had committed some unforgivable sin. Then, he coughed weakly a couple of times, buried his cheek into a soft cushion, and his voice came out muffled.

“...So cold.”

He complained, then held out a hand to you, his wrist slender, his fingertips flushed with an unnatural yet cute pink from the fever. His movement was slow, yet it carried an unquestionable air of command.

“Come over here, please.” he said softly, his voice hoarse and slightly nasal, sounding like both a command and a wheedling plea.

When you sat down beside him, he immediately wrapped himself around you like a vine, shoving his cold hands under your clothes for warmth, and pressed his burning forehead into the crook of your neck, rubbing against it gently.

“...Dizzy.” he mumbled indistinctly, his entire body practically hanging off you, initiating the most entitled intimacy from a weakened state. “Your body heat is comfortable.”

“So, as a reward...”

He adjusted into a more comfortable position, whispering into your ear with a breathy voice, the warmth of his words tickling your ear. The atmosphere was intimate, filled with pink bubbles, you could almost hear his slow heartbeat... his lips seemed about to kiss your earlobe...

"Can you hand me the new Rats in the House of the Dead report now, my loyal, hardworking subordinate?"

...The pink bubbles shattered! What kind of feverish nonsense is this capitalist spouting??!

Fyodor's condition was gradually improving; he wasn't feverish or weak much anymore. Except for a slight cough he had recently developed, everything was heading in the right direction.

Until today.

Nikolai was sitting on a small stool by the door, trying to put a fourth layer of socks over his existing three. Finally, under Sigma's threat of "If you keep messing around, I'll shove my gloves in your mouth", he sighed and reluctantly changed into thermal socks.

After putting on his boots, he happily stomped his heels, spun around on the spot, and raised his hand to demand everyone's attention.

"Anyway! To celebrate our poor companion's impending health--! I propose--"

Sigma slapped his raised hand down, slipping a glove onto it as he did so:"What are you proposing?"

Nikolai winked playfully, "I propose we take Dosto-kun outside to build a snowman!"

"Gogol! Can you be normal!"

"Heh! Such a cranky little manager! Not cute at all anymore."

"I wasn't trying to be cute for you!"

Fyodor buried his face in a sofa cushion, not wanting to deal with any of them.

He muttered to himself: Foolish humans.

---

In the end, everyone still unanimously decided to build a snowman outside.

"Can someone tell me, why is the sick patient still out here!"

Sigma's hand holding the shovel trembled slightly. He pointed it at Fyodor and you, "Didn't you agree to stay at home!?"

"Cold." Fyodor replied, his voice muffled by his warm face mask. He had snuck out after you. He leaned almost his entire body weight on you, not heavy, as light as a snowflake, yet full of presence.

"It's because it's cold that you need to stay by the warm fireplace!"

"The fireplace is here."

Fyodor buried his cheek into the crook of your neck, rubbing it gently, sprawling against you and acting spoiled like a soft kitten.

Then he shoved his hands into your pockets——this fool hadn't even brought gloves, and his hands were red and icy from the cold. "Please warm my hands..." he demanded. His voice was muffled, but filled with the righteous entitlement of ordering you around.

——The bastard.

"What are you guys talking about?" Nikolai had already skillfully rolled two snowballs, "Hurry, hurry! I'm going to build a tall--a tall snowman! Seven or eight layers! Hurry, hurry, Sigma-chan, come help me!"

Sigma groaned with a headache, shooting you a pleading glance. How he wished you could save him from this ordeal, but you were currently being clung to by Fyodor like an octopus and were clearly unable to help. Sigma could only walk towards Nikolai in despair.

And so, the atmosphere instantly became lively. This was all thanks to Sigma, this new-age singer, this outstanding tenor.

"Aaaah, don't shake me! Nikolai--"

Sigma struggled to hold a new snowball, trying to place it on top of the fourth one, but Nikolai, who was carrying him piggyback, was always unsteady, making him panic.

"Oops, oops, sorry! The clown didn't do it on purpose!" Nikolai apologized, but with a huge grin on his face, "It's all your fault for wriggling around on my shoulders, that's why I can't stand steady☆"

"Nonsense--"

Sigma forcefully placed the snowball on top, took the mineral water bottle you promptly handed him, and sprinkled a little water at the junction of the two snowballs to make the snowman more stable.

"So noisy." Fyodor muttered in complaint, taking the mineral water bottle that Sigma handed back and shoving it back into your hands.

And so, after all the bickering and fooling around, they finally reached the last snowball.

Sigma excitedly held up the last snowball, which had two bottle caps and a carrot on it——the snowman's head:"Finally..."

Nikolai cheered, his sparkling eyes twinkling with childish joy:"Everyone is about to witness the birth of the seven-layered snow giant--!"

In an atmosphere of excitement, Sigma placed the snowman's head on its body, took the water bottle you handed him, and just as he was about to sprinkle some water,

The snowman's head wasn't stable. It hit Sigma's head, and then slid off——

"Oof!"

Fyodor, the innocent bystander, was hit by the weapon. Soft snow covered his messy black hair not protected by his hat, and the tip of his nose peeking out from under his mask was bright red.

His violet eyes met yours blankly, his reddish hands subconsciously coming up to cover his forehead, as if he hadn't yet processed what happened, "Hm...?"

After a few seconds of silence, a joyful burst of laughter erupted from Nikolai, along with Sigma's demands for Nikolai to put him down, and the laugh that you had just failed to hold back.

Fyodor's gaze instantly turned reproachful. He just stared at you reproachfully, as if he had suffered an unforgivable betrayal from you, "What are you laughing at?"