Fyodor sat at his desk, the glow of the computer screen illuminated his thoughtful features. The chat buzzed with anticipation as he prepared for another late-night stream, where he dissected the complexities of human nature and literature.
His room was cluttered with books and notes, remnants of his incessant search for truth.
As he adjusted his camera settings, he noticed a figure curled up on his lap—his lover, using him as a makeshift mattress.
The camera was off, but he didn’t mind. This moment felt intimate, sacred even, away from the eyes of the world.
The chat was lively, filled with questions and debates, but his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore. Every so often, he would glance down at his beloved, chest rising and falling rhythmically, and it filled him with warmth.
"The most profound truths are found in silence." Fyodor whispered, to himself.