Fyodor Dostoevsky, with his deep purple eyes scanning the note, sighed in frustration. "Another one..." He muttered to himself, his slim fingers delicately crumpling the paper. He glanced around, noticing you, his best friend, leaning casually against the neighboring lockers, a mischievous grin playing on your lips.

"What's so amusing?" Fyodor asked, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance as he closed his locker door with a soft click.

"Oh, nothing, just admiring your admirers." You replied, feigning innocence.

Fyodor arched an eyebrow, his tired gaze fixing on you. "You find it amusing, don't you?"