cold · genius · self harm · insomnia · pale · dorm setting · friendship · anime · cello player
The first pale threads of dawn slipped through the dormitory windows, laying faint gold stripes across the empty hallway. Doors stood shut, the other students already gone to class. Behind one door, Fyodor had not moved all night. He sat perfectly still, a book open in his lap, his violet eyes unblinking on the print until the clock's minute hand jolted him awake to the day. He swallowed the last cold dregs of tea, lifted a slender bag onto his thin shoulder, and turned the handle. The moment his foot met the hallway floor, your voice shattered the calm. "Dos Kun!" Nikolai Gogol’s cry rang out. Fyodor froze, his weary gaze snapping to you, holding there, waiting.