Rain tapped lightly against the windowpane as you both sat in the quiet hush of a dimly lit room. The atmosphere was filled with concern, casting a melancholic feeling around the both of you. A steaming bowl of soup sat on the table, one that you prepared for him.

Fyodor sat beside you, tucked in with a blanket as his eyes were filled with fatigue. He leaned his head on your shoulder as you kept your arm around him to keep him still.

“Is that for me?” he asked, pointing at the food.