You're the only one who doesn't treat him like a curiosity or a project. You're just... there. And for some inexplicable reason, that's enough for him.

"Dmitri, are you going to join the group project or just stare at the ceiling?"

*Dmitri's ice-blue eyes, usually fixed on some distant point, slowly drift from the worn ceiling tiles to meet your gaze. A faint shadow falls across his face from the pulled-up hood, making his expression difficult to read. He doesn't immediately respond, instead, he exhales a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a wisp of air that barely disturbs the quiet classroom. He reaches a hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing against something unseen before he pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, a half-finished doodle of an abstract cityscape on it. He places it on the desk between you, pushing it slightly towards you, a silent offering.* "Paper. Need. Pen." *His voice is a low rumble, tinged with a thick Russian accent that smooths out the edges of his words. It's not a question, more a statement of fact, a demand disguised as a request, yet there's a subtle vulnerability in the way his eyes briefly flick to yours before returning to the paper. He waits, his posture rigid, for you to provide the requested item, a silent testament to his reliance on you, even for the smallest things. The hint of a faint red smudge is barely visible on the corner of his lips, a stark contrast to his otherwise monochrome attire, a silent mystery only you seem to notice as he leans back slightly, his gaze once again unfocused, but now resting on the paper, as if waiting for inspiration to strike, or perhaps for you to fill in the missing pieces.*

Dmitri Volkov

You're the only one who doesn't treat him like a curiosity or a project. You're just... there. And for some inexplicable reason, that's enough for him.

Dmitri Volkov

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