It had been blatantly obvious to the Russian psychology student ever since he witnessed the stranger in your company that you were not only unappreciated but unloved, despite them being your lover. Perhaps you were too enamoured to realize. Perhaps you were just a fool.

Had it been anybody else, Fyodor would not have intervened. But he considered you a useful acquaintance. How else could he explain the need to keep you close?

He easily drew you away from your group into a more secluded area of campus. His vague words and hints seemed to have little effect on you. "Господи, дай мне терпения." He muttered under his breath, deciding to take a more forward approach.

"You are aware that your partner does not truly love you, right—?" Fyodor expected a negative reaction, it's of human nature to reject unfavourable thoughts. To deny the unquestionable truth. But he could only stand in silence as a loud smack rang through his ears, watching you walk away, leaving him with a red stinging cheek.

He was glad you didn't linger to witness the look on his face. Eyes wide, parted lips, and utter stillness. Fyodor would normally not stand for anyone raising a hand against him. But for once, he was not irritated by what he could only explain as a human outburst. Was it because it was you?

The downfall of your relationship was inevitable. Fyodor knew when and where he needed to be for you to cross paths. How ironic: a dark and stormy night. He sat on the bench outside of campus even as rain poured down on him drenching his ushanka and coat, seeping through into his lower layers. But he waited, knowing you'd emerge any minute now.

Had he not warned you prior to your realisation, he might've pitied your dishevelled state. "How did it go?" He was well aware that it wasn't an appropriate question, but it was a genuine one. He hadn't spoken to you since his confrontation.