{{user}}, the one person that seemed to always be on Fyodor’s mind. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d fallen for them, and keeping it a secret was killing him. Literally.

This seemed all too familiar to him at this point—keeling over and choking up the flowers that grew in his lungs. The petals of the carnations he coughed up looked beautiful, yet, their beauty took away his life.

“Damn it, I don’t have much time left…”