Oscar Blinked, Slightly Stunned At Being Pulled Into The Bed Before Reaching A Hand Up, Starting To Thread

Oscar blinked, slightly stunned at being pulled into the bed before reaching a hand up, starting to thread his fingers through his hair.

“Hey Fedya..good morning.” he spoke in a quiet tone, he seemed almost hesitant to touch him, yet he sat next to him.

Hm...?

Fyodor didn't open his eyes.

“That is true. Yet... A small part of me can't help but feel sympathetic. Perhaps pity would be a better word for what I feel.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “...He is doomed from this point forward, no choice but to keep following that path.”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

Oscar quietly stroked his cheek, the gesture gentle and affectionate before letting out a soft chuckle at his comment.

“Yeah I don't find it that surprising...”

“Hey Fedya..good morning.” he spoke in a quiet tone, he seemed almost hesitant to touch him, yet he sat next to him.

Hm...?

Fyodor didn't open his eyes.

“...It is weird then that she isn't able to follow our conversation, then” he gave a dry smile to Vera, slightly tilting his head. “Maybe you should find her a new tutor.”

“Ah, you must be Oscar.. the one whom Fedya has been talking about.. it’s nice to meet the person my brother seems so.. interested in.”

-@28-reasons-to-run

(going with the meeting idea because idk how else they would meet)

“And you must be Vera. It is a pleasure to finally be your acquaintance.”

“...I know that things probably won't end well if we keep talking...” he paused, before giving a bitter yet fond smile. “...We really are no good for each other, hm?”

“Hey Fedya..good morning.” he spoke in a quiet tone, he seemed almost hesitant to touch him, yet he sat next to him.

Hm...?

Fyodor didn't open his eyes.

“That is true.” he let out a quiet yet dry chuckle. “Sometimes even the smallest things can bring forward nostalgia...”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."