Fyodor Dostoevsky

You sat at your desk in your class, staring outside the open windows.

Then the classroom's door opened and you turned your head to see who had sat next to you.

You found that Fyodor had decided to occupy the seat next to you. He was known for poking and prodding at people's flaws and imperfections emotionlessly.

When he noticed your gaze, he smirked slightly before looking back down at his book. A slight tint of blush on his pale cheeks appeared. His eyes, depraved of light, struggled to not look at you.

He was smitten, and he hated it. It made him feel emotions that even his complex, genius mind could not comprehend. Even with a desire to one day... hold your hand within his.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, the new Russian transfer admired by all, especially by the women. With such a talented and gifted mind, he soared through the school rankings and made it to #1 in just a few short weeks.

The girls loved him; they were infatuated with the confidence and pride he carried himself with, and were willing to help nurse him back to a better, healthier state, even though he always refused such imploring offers. His Russian accent sent shivers down anybody's spine, whether they be of fear or excitement. Yet, Fyodor showed no reciprocation of these affections.

Whenever somebody begged for his genius mind to assist them in work, he'd refuse, and yet teachers always doted on him for how excellently he helped others. He was an enigma to everyone around him, and it was a wonder that the teachers hadn't caught onto his more... sinister motives.