Make Me Love Again

Chapter 2

Fyodor woke up slowly, engulfed in warmth and surrounded by familiar blankets that smelt of clean soap and lingering cheap coffee. It'd been about a week since he'd last gone to get tea and left Nikolai behind, so he settled for buying instant coffee pods and discounted packs of tea—during the daylight, of course, he was too cautious to risk anything after the sun went down—instead of getting anything freshly brewed.

Ever since he'd stormed out of the café he was too nervous to go anywhere near the block. It was just something about Nikolai that pricked at his mind, and Fyodor didn't like not knowing what was going on.

So he did what he did best.

He avoided the problem like it didn't exist.

He'd made progress at work, though. His new—and old, again —coworkers were opening up little by little, which caused his shifts to go by faster.

Laurelle was still extremely prickly about Fyodor being 'hired out of nowhere,' to put it lightly. The women just simply seemed to loath his mere existence. It was always a challenge to play the 'Will I Snap At My Annoying Colleague Today?'  when he knew it would end poorly, which is the main reason he ignored her almost completely.

If only Fyodor could never see that lady again and his life would be as peaceful as it was before.

Before he'd been misplaced , that is.

Fyodor hauled himself out of bed's grace and untangled the sheets around him with a mourning huff, already missing its comfortability. He needed to get to the library a little earlier today since a new shipment of materials was scheduled. He'd been keeping the management group on their feet lately because according to them the deliveries arrive randomly .

Meaning, no one other than the boss knew about them to keep actual tabs.

He could only focus on the decline in productivity. Since he'd been thrusted into a coma then back into the world, his job had been shoved to the side with no apparent need, but now he was the sole reason everyone was able to stay on top of their recovering duties.

Fyodor threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up with a heavy breath, rocking forward and stretching his arms above his head. The routine he followed everyday didn't start for another couple minutes, and like his mother used to say when he was a kid, he had a bad habit of delaying himself if he was ahead of schedule.

Maybe it was some sort of mental thing he was born with that made him resistant to change, and maybe that was why he didn't like being around Nikolai too much.

There were just too many unpredictable factors when it came to the white-haired man.

Somewhere in his flat a clock ticked loudly, signaling the hour he began his day, and Fyodor got up easily to pull some clothes out of his dresser. Each shirt and each slack folded smoothly without creases, and Fyodor took a prided smile at the reassurance of neatness.

He just couldn't stand any kind of mess or disorganization, especially in his own living space.

Out in the world it was too much to ask for no complications, so at a young age Fyodor decided to control everything he could possibly get his hands on. It'd worked perfectly for many years, hence why he was living so stable at a relatively young age, though that certainly went downhill not too long ago. Anything out of the ordinary left a bitter taste behind his tongue, like he couldn't bring any satisfaction when he reeled things to how they were supposed to be.

Fyodor got dressed and tossed his sleeping clothes into the basket of the designated laundry room before going to his kitchen and switching on the new coffee machine.