I'm here, friend

      Fedor was sitting at the table in his apartment and waiting. He was waiting for the appearance of his dear friend Nikolai, as promised. As if in response to his thoughts, he heard faint footsteps in the hallway. A few long moments later, the door swung open, and Nikolai finally entered, albeit noisily, sitting down on the table in front of Fyodor, his legs dangling over the edge. That was nice, he thought, though with annoyance. — Hmm, you're very late, Nikolai. Is there a reason for this?       Nikolai hummed to himself with great pleasure, he was too relaxed to feel remorse at all. And why, if he was not as late as it seemed at first glance. He was sitting on the table with a happy look, not paying attention to important papers that had fallen on the floor. Notes from classes that were important. None of this mattered to him. He was more busy looking at him, his dear friend. Still tired, his friend had a lot of self-control and, most likely, a lot of patience. What an interesting combination. He chirped cheerfully to him: — Oh, nothing special. It's very easy to get lost in this house. You know, all these little rooms. But now I'm here. — I can't say that it didn't bother me. — Fyodor said wearily. — But I guess I can't be mad at you.       Fyodor smiled warmly at Nikolai and, getting up from the table, motioned him to come closer. Although this was not necessary — the apartment was small, and his friend was already very close to him. — Come here... give me a hug, please. — Fyodor asked, and his tone gradually became more and more desperate, since he was really hungry for his noisy company.       Nikolai beamed looking at him, he was ready to hug him as tightly as possible. But within reasonable limits, as far as it is possible at all. He answered him joyfully: — Of course, Fedenka!       He jumped off the table as if it was the order of the day for him. In part, it was. After taking just a step, he stopped right in front of him. He couldn't help but notice that his friend's eyes were shining strangely. However, he attributed it to the joy of the meeting. He hugged him tightly, clinging to him.       Fyodor hesitantly hugged Nikolai and hugged him tightly, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply the fragrance of his friend. For a split second, he felt happy; he felt the warmth of his friend's body pressed against him; he felt that he was being hugged and cared for; that was all he expected from this meeting. It finally happened. Except... he felt cold in his arms. And his friend felt it well. — Fedenka? — Nikolai called softly, still with his eyes tightly closed. — What's going on?       Fyodor exhaled slowly and began to stroke his back soothingly. He himself thought that he was all right. Perhaps it's a cold related to the weather. Autumn is usually very cold. Nothing special, because for some reason he didn't feel bad. In fact, it was becoming somehow easy for him. Although the cold was not very pleasant. And he felt that he was deceiving himself. He whispered softly to him: — It's just a little cold...       The wind was blowing through the apartment, which burst out of the cracks. Except that his friend was wearing a long coat. And it was a different cold. — Fedenka... It's not just a little cold. — Nikolai said in an unexpectedly serious tone.       At that moment, Fyodor felt as motionless as a corpse; a cold stone to the touch. Nikolai, clinging tightly to his friend's body, felt as if he was holding a dead weight. It was completely wrong. When his anxiety began to turn into a panic attack, he opened his eyes with horror and looked at his friend in disbelief.       It took a huge effort for Fyodor to take a deep breath and exhale. This simple action cheered him up a little. He felt a little better now, not even like that, he felt alive. Although he was still cold. He sobbed softly, feeling the warmth spreading inside him. This was something he really didn't like. He pressed his shirt to his chest, feeling the heat in that area. He whispered hoarsely to him: — I'm very cold... it's very cold here... and it's hot... in the chest...       Nikolai slowly leaned forward, bringing his face closer to his friend's face. He stared at him with concern and panic that showed on his face. — Fedenka, listen to me carefully, you are not well. You're as cold as ice. — Nikolai's tone was calm as he tried to get his friend's attention. — Are you feeling well? No dizziness? Nothing?       Fyodor listened attentively to him, but the words came to him as if through a column of water. He was trying to find at least some positive emotions in it right now. But now he was overcome with longing. Now he understood why this was happening to him. But it seemed to him that it had passed with him a long time ago. He muttered something to him softly: — The head... hurts... and the heart...       It wasn't good — Look at me, — Nikolai said, trying to keep his voice soft and calm.       He lowered his eyes, expecting his friend to look up at him, but, oddly enough, he did not have enough physical strength for this. —Are you feeling sick? No, Fedenka, you definitely need to lie down now. — His tone became more and more insistent, and not a trace of his cheerful chirping remained.       Fyodor could only nod at him, he was too weak to speak above a whisper.       Nikolai immediately made a decision, he, without thinking twice, picked him up in his arms and carried him to the sofa. All this time, he cursed himself for not noticing the deterioration of his friend's condition earlier. Although, on the other hand, he was a student studying to be a lawyer, not a doctor. But he noticed a feverish gleam in his friend's eyes. Why didn't he think then that his shy friend was just hiding his weakness for victory? He didn't know how to answer these questions.       He covered him with the blankets left there, feeling the coldness of his skin even through the fabric. Crappy blankets of some kind, worn, with holes left either by time, or because of mice. He mentally vowed to buy him at least something better than this. Nikolai felt a wave of hopelessness sweep over him; he did not know what to do and how to help. He didn't know and could only watch in horror as his friend breathed fitfully.       And the way his friend grabbed the place where his heart was, prompted him to think.       Obeying instinct, Nikolai put his head on his lap and began stroking his hair with his fingers to calm him down. He looked at his friend lying on his lap and saw that he had lost what little strength he had left to keep his eyes open. He leaned forward again and kissed him right on the forehead; it was supposed to be a soothing kiss. — I'm here, my friend. — he muttered softly, holding back tears and his fear. — I'm here.       The minutes dragged on for a very long time, it seemed to him that several centuries had passed. The clock in the next apartment crackled softly, brightening up the silence. It was not absolute silence — the city outside the window lived its turbulent life, despite the grief of the student. But for him, this whole world instantly ceased to exist, the whole meaning focused on a friend who was breathing so weakly that his heart was breaking. Yielding to a new impulse, he began stroking his head, smoothing his dark curls. The hair felt soft, almost like silk.        Except that the skin was so pale, paler than usual. Cold skin, not like a corpse, but close to it. His memory brought back to him the image of the drowned man he had seen as a child. It would have been better if he hadn't remembered, but now he felt even worse. The thought of death always scared him, but he brushed it off, joked off, passing by the good-natured joker. And now he couldn't squeeze out any joke, anything at all.       All that was left was his friend's faint breathing and the sobs that escaped him.       Fyodor opened his eyes with great difficulty. Despite the warmth from the blankets, he didn't feel any better. The fever in the chest did not go away. He whispered hoarsely, turning into a painful whine: — Pills... under the pillow... are needed...       Nikolai understood, now he understood everything. Without further questions, he picked up a pillow as thin as a pancake. Indeed, there was a small bottle with white pills. He did not know what the dosage should be, and decided to rely on his intuition. He poured a few pills into his palm, feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of them. After some hesitation, he looked at his friend again. Gently stroking his cheek, he gently opened his mouth and poured out the pills, slightly lifting his head, helping him swallow these pills.       Bitter, most likely, pills.       Fyodor exhaled weakly, smiling slightly. The heat in his chest subsided, and soon disappeared altogether. It was better than hundreds of words. Better than he could have imagined. Nikolai quickly wiped away his tears, muttering confusedly: — Don't scare me like that anymore.