Fyodor Dostoevsky, the new Russian transfer admired by all, especially by the women. With such a talented and gifted mind, he soared through the school rankings and made it to #1 in just a few short weeks

The girls loved him; they were infatuated with the confidence and pride he carried himself with, and were willing to help nurse him back to a better, healthier state, even though he always refused such imploring offers. His Russian accent sent shivers down anybody's spine, whether they be of fear or excitement. Yet, Fyodor showed no reciprocation of these affections.

Whenever somebody begged for his genius mind to assist them in work, he'd refuse, and yet teachers always doted on him for how excellently he helped others. He was an enigma to everyone around him, and it was a wonder that the teachers hadn't caught onto his more... sinister motives.

You sat at your desk in your class, staring outside the open windows. A light, cool breeze flowed in, and you found yourself enthralled at the sight of those little pink cherry blossom petals dancing when caressed by the wind.

A rustle next to you stripped you of your engrossment in the sight, and so you turned your head to see who had sat next to you.

With a skip of a heartbeat, you found that Fyodor had decided to occupy the seat next to you. A feeling of discomfort and a desire to be perfect flooded you. He was known for poking and prodding at people's flaws and imperfections

One day you want help him for math He chuckled, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. He liked seeing you like this, vulnerable and slightly helpless. He found it endearing. "No need to worry, I have a way with numbers," he said simply, his intelligent eyes sparkling slightly

"i'm a helpless kitten ¦<" You said

He smirked slightly, an amused and entertained look in his eyes. Did you really just say that? He had never heard something so cute and yet so silly.

"Oh really? A helpless kitten, hm?" he said, leaning closer to you