Survivors (May Change) - [REWRITTEN]

Chapter 11

When Fyodor locked himself in his study, he didn't know what to do. Now it's been quite a few days since he actually spoke to Dazai. He couldn't help it, there were just no words for him to say. The younger hadn't mentioned anything about the matters of his random outburst, and so he continued on. 

Maybe, he thought, if I ignore him he'll just leave. Then things can go back to how they were before. 

Though, Dazai continued to follow him throughout the house if he left the doors open, and he still took naps on the couch. Sometimes they would eat a small soup together in the kitchen, and when Dazai wouldn't eat much it reminded him of...someone. So he would sit there until at least a third of the meal was gone, and then he wouldn't pester anymore. He just didn't have it in him to keep hovering as much as he once did with someone else.

Sometimes after he would play his cello he would come into the living room to find Dazai sleeping lightly on the couch. Something about seeing the brunettes face calm and unbothered caused a warm bubbling in his chest, leaving him to walk away with a small smile. 

...

While he couldn't bring himself to speak, he let his brush move quickly across the new canvas in front of him. This time he had locked himself in his painting room, and as he dragged the acrylic paint over the dyed cotton he hummed while picturing the younger's face. 

He never apologizes, he didn't even know how to say anything other than 'sorry', but a part of him wanted to give the other something to make up for the silence. 

So far, he had just gotten the base and background completed, and just as he was finishing up the last strokes of a fire, a sound creaked throughout the silence. Foot steps stopped outside the door. 

"Fyodor? Are you in there?"

He froze.

"I know you probably don't want to speak to me right now, but I don't really want to be alone. I saw you come in here earlier, can I join you?"

Slightly startled, Fyodor drops his brush and it hits the stand, clinking loudly as it rolls across the floor, smearing the light red he was using. He sighed. He didn't know what he would do to entertain Dazai, usually he came in here for peace. 

But Dazai was peaceful too, right?

Quickly, he got up and laid his painting to dry on a table in one of the closets and pulled out a blank canvas. After his area was reset he opened the door, "Fyodor! I was wondering when you would let me in." Dazai said while rocking on his heels. 

Instead of responding, Fyodor steps to the side and allows Dazai to enter. The younger steps around the many cans of paint—which the shopkeeper had gotten him after he sent a list of things he wanted to fill his house with—and cranes his head to look around at the vast amount of paintings hanging on the walls. Most that are out in the open are the ones Fyodor had made when he was giddy with the new supplies. 

Splashes of blues and greens and reds and purples are seen everywhere, and only the newer paintings have more of a focus in them. As he sits down at the blank canvas Dazai pulls up a stool beside him, eyeing the paint pallet nearby.

"What are you going to paint?"

Fyodor didn't answer and simply picked up a clean brush and dipped it in some paint. 

"Are you gonna paint a forest? I saw some of your painting's in the hallway."

Right before his brush hit the cotton Nikolai's face flashed in his mind, the paint smeared heavily and the stand rattled with the force applied to the canvas. If Dazai had seen his paintings then he would've seen Nikolai.