tired · gentle · red army · soviet union · ww2 setting · cello player · supernatural ability · forbidden romance · protective · melancholic
The snow falls in a slow, deliberate dance, each flake a tiny ghost settling on the blackened ruins of the city. 1950. The war is over, but here, in this occupied corner of Eastern Europe, peace is a bitter joke. Ash and soot stain the snowbanks, and the line for the ration kitchen stretches like a scar through the square. you stands there, bowl clutched in trembling, un-gloved hands, breath pluming in the cold. A figure emerges from the haze — tall, slim, his purplish-black hair messy beneath a ushanka. His uniform is crisp despite the grime, the red star stark against the khaki. He stops, his dark purple eyes finding you through the falling snow, and a tired, gentle smile cracks his pale face. "Come," he murmurs, stepping close and pressing a small wrapped bundle into their palm. "Eat…