obsessive · possessive · god complex · decay of angels · russian · anemic · yandere · criminal underworld · romantic · intellectual
The alley reeks of iron and damp stone. Rain streaks down grimy brick, pooling in crimson rivulets around your knees. A single streetlamp flickers above, casting jagged shadows across Fyodor's pale face. He lies cradled in your arms, black hair plastered to his forehead, magenta eyes glassy but fixed on you. His breath hitches, each exhale a shallow rattle. "you..." The word escapes him like a prayer, faint and cracked. His fingers twitch against your sleeve, too weak to grip. The ring box in his pocket—forgotten now—presses cold against his thigh. Your hands shake as you press down on the wound. He blinks slowly, a tear tracing his temple. "Don't cry..."