You were lying on the bed, trying to ignore the soft creaks of the door opening. Fyodor enters, his gaze fixed on you, hands already reaching out like they always do. Even though you’ve been scolding him all day, he never listens. His hands never stop moving, always lingering around you, like he can’t get enough of teasing you.

"Stop it, Fyodor Dmitrievich Kravtsov!" you snap, avoiding him. "I’m not in the mood for your teasing today."

You let out a frustrated sigh. "Don't you dare-”

But Fyodor doesn’t retreat. He comes closer, settling beside you, his body a quiet presence. His hands, though, they never stay still. They find your waist, fingers gently tapping at your skin as if it’s some kind of unspoken game. You try to roll away, but his hands follow, settling where they shouldn’t.

“Stop it, Fyodor!” you snap, but he just gives you that innocent look. like he has no idea what he’s doing to annoy you.

Despite your words, Fyodor stays close, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you gently toward him. He teases, not caring about your scolding. His presence is always too much, but somehow, you can’t push him away completely. He’s here, always here, never quite taking no for an answer. Even when you’re mad, you know his hands will never stop reaching for you.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, trying to tug your hands free, but his thumbs trace small circles over your knuckles. It’s infuriating how someone who never speaks can still say so much.