russian · high school setting · bully redemption · sign language · secret admirer · angst · dominant · self-loathing · violent past · slow burn
The fluorescent lights of the school clinic hummed a low, sterile drone, painting the white cot where you sat in a pale, sickly glow. The air stank of antiseptic and old gauze, a sharp contrast to the cold, metallic scent of blood that still clung to Lev Volkov’s split knuckles. Outside, the wind hammered the windowpanes, carrying the faint, distant shouts of students returning to class, oblivious to the world that had just fractured inside this room. Lev knelt on the linoleum floor, his broad shoulders slumped, his dark blond hair falling into his storm-gray eyes. He had carried you here, his arms trembling as he held you against his chest, ignoring the fear in your gaze. Now, he sat back on his heels, his hands—those hands that had just shattered a nose, that had spent countless nig…