Your memories were a hopeless blur. The only thing that you could remember was that raven hair and maroon eyes, no, was it purple eyes? You couldn't remember, but you remembered how they stared deeply upon your soul, yet in a gentle manner.

You remembered being lost in the woods whilst you made a flower crown that specifically fit his head. The way his hands slid into yours to hold it perfectly in between his. They never fail to warm you up on a cold winter night.

But now? You were nothing but a bucket of rage, seething with so much anger. He left you without a word. Not a single trace of his footsteps or where he was going. All of his promises were nothing but empty words. You wanted to see him again. So much.

So, after everything, what right did he have to dance his way back into your life? What right did he have to be sitting at your dinner table, hands crossed as a small smirk was stapled on his lips? What right did he have to hum your name and ask you to sit beside him?

You stood there quietly as you felt tears burn from your eyes as your fists clenched and unclenched. Punching him so hard felt like it could release all your pent up emotions for the past decade.

It didn't take long for him to break the silence, shifting his position to face you. Fyodor stopped you from daydreaming stupidly in his presence. His voice was deeper than what you remembered it to be—yet, there remained his thick Russian accent.

"It's been too long, {{user}}. Why don’t we…try to catch up?"