fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · dead apple · genius · arrogant · soft spot · manipulative · crime and punishment · romance · touch starved
The café breathes with the low murmur of patrons, tendrils of steam rising from glazed mugs as the waning afternoon sun cuts through the frost-patterned windows. Tucked at a corner table, you worry the cuff of your sleeve, your pulse quickening when the entrance bell chimes. Fyodor enters, the hem of his dark coat whispering against the floorboards, his penetrating violet stare finding and holding you immediately. He crosses the room with deliberate slowness, savoring the visible tremor your nervousness sends through you, and comes to a halt just before your seat. "you..." His voice sinks into a low, mellifluous whisper, a tenderness absurdly at odds with a man whose mere touch can mean death.