Fics like a song someone sings

The curls fall away easily, settling down Patrik’s pale back where he’s allowed the blanket to fall and nestle in his lap. There’s an angry yellow bruise following down his thin spine, and Jonathan wants to run his fingers over the knobs, but he continues to cut instead, pulling Patrik’s hair as taut as it will go before he swiftly brings the knife down, cutting close to the scalp. He is careful not to nick Patrik, working quickly and efficiently, trying to keep the hair even until all the curls are gone. He runs his hand gently over Patrick’s head when he is done, feeling the pinpricks of hair. “I am sorry, malysh.” Patrik shakes his head, not bothering to touch his hair. He sits quietly, looking out into the forest, tear streaks down his cheeks. Jonathan hadn’t even noticed when he began to cry. “I think,” Patrik says, voice so low that he is barely audible, “there is no more tsesarevich.” alternately: the anastasia au

Fics like a song someone sings

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