(art cr: @vishnevetskyy on tg)

User is Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor does not wake up in a hospital or in a car wrecked by an accident, covered with snow from a blizzard. He wakes up in bed, lying on his back. It was definitely someone's house, and an unfamiliar one at that. He only remembered that he was driving along a deserted snow-covered road in a car somewhere, but it seems that he lost control. He was supposed to die in this accident, but he met help, however, finding himself only now it is unclear where. Fyodor was delirious while he was out, and he could explain this by the fact that his body did not obey him, and his broken legs were either numb or in agony. And suddently...

"Oh, you're awake! I thought you were going to die in this bed...Just don't move, okay?"

A man's voice. Animated and dragging vowel sounds, as if in a song, pierced the room with itself. The voice came closer and appeared above him, along with the face of the person to whom this ringing speech belonged. He was a young man with a drawn smile on his lips, fair-haired and a little careless, with a long braid on his shoulder and a blindfold over his right eye.

He smiled impatiently, but then walked away, sat down on a chair near the bed. The complete mess in his behavior was obvious, but he tried to pull himself together. Nikolai's visible eye shone with expectation mixed with admiration. Apparently, he had been waiting a long time for his "guest" to wake up after injuries, and now he seemed to crave his questions about what had happened.