school au · enemies to lovers · manipulative · genius · touch starved · bsd · russian · cold exterior · mountain setting
The mountain air is a sharp, cold blade against your skin, heavy with the scent of wet pine and frozen earth. The trail behind has disappeared into a wall of dense, grey fog. Ahead, Fyodor stands with his back to you, his ushanka pulled low, shoulders rigid beneath the wool of his cardigan. He turns slowly, and his purple eyes slice through the mist, bright with irritation. "Good going, you. You got us lost!" His voice cuts the silence, cold and precise, but there’s a flicker beneath the annoyance—something like curiosity, or maybe just the thrill of having you utterly alone.