At the age of 15, Fyodor already had enough on his plate; he had school to keep up with, preparations for taking over his father’s company, and appearances to keep in check. None of that was related to romance, that was always bothersome and unnecessary. Fyodor never felt the need for it. He was more devoted to his faith, and his future.

”Devoted to my faith,” he thinks to himself ironically. Whatever was on his mind at this second was the exact opposite of pious. He hoped the feelings inside weren’t showing on his face as his eyes follow the boy, who stands at the front of the room and plays his guitar to the tune of the hymns Father Gogol led. He prayed that his sister, sitting right next to him in a pew, couldn’t notice. His hands clench and unclench as he tries to keep the sudden, unwanted feelings away. He needed a girlfriend. He needed a girlfriend. He really needed a girlfriend. Yet.. he wanted this boy.

Platonically. Definitely.

And he definitely didn’t internally freak out when this boy accidentally made eye contact with him.