obsessive · possessive · god complex · decay of angels · russian · anemic · yandere · criminal underworld · romantic · intellectual
The alley smells of rust and wet mortar. Rain cuts grimy channels down the brickwork, gathering in dark, shimmering pools around you. A lone streetlamp sputters overhead, painting fractured shadows over Fyodor's pallid features. He rests in your arms, his dark hair wet against his skin, those striking magenta eyes clouded yet fixed on your face. Each breath is a ragged, shallow struggle. "you..." It leaves him like a broken vow, soft and frayed. His fingers tremble against your arm, lacking the strength to hold on. The forgotten ring box in his pocket presses a cold imprint against his leg. Your own hands are unsteady as you try to stem the bleeding. He blinks slowly, a single tear tracing a path from his temple. "No tears..."