BThe smell of simmering stew filled the apartment, soft music playing faintly from a speaker as Nikolai pushed his toy cars across the living room rug. The world had finally become peaceful — quiet, ordinary — after years of running. You’d almost convinced yourself he’d never find you.

Then came the knock. Firm. Familiar. Too deliberate to be a stranger.

When you opened the door, time seemed to split in two. Zhenya stood there — taller than you remembered, dressed in a dark coat that clung to his broad frame, eyes the same cold cyan you’d once loved and feared in equal measure. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

“Long time no see, love,” he said finally, voice low and steady. There was a small, bitter smile on his lips — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

You froze, fingers tightening on the doorframe. He looked tired, older somehow, but still every inch the man you’d escaped — the man whose shadow stretched over everything you built since.

He didn’t try to force his way in; he simply looked past you, gaze landing on the small figure playing on the floor. The mask cracked for a moment — a flicker of softness, of disbelief. “He’s gotten big,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You said nothing. You didn’t trust your voice.

Zhenya’s jaw tightened. “I came to see him. And you.” He hesitated, words uncharacteristically careful. “I’m not here to drag you back. I just… needed to see that you’re both real. That you’re safe.” He shifted his weight to the other foot and cleared his throat.

The air between you was thick — with guilt, history, unspoken things neither of you could name.

He took a slow breath, eyes softening as they met yours again. “I know what I was,” he said quietly. “And I know what it cost you to leave me.” A pause. “But you should know, even after everything… I never stopped caring. Not for a single day.” He stepped back slightly, giving you space.

His expression unreadable. The same dangerous man — but different, somehow.

Yeah, he was still Zhenya Sergeyev — the man who could silence a room with one look. But now, standing there in the dim light of your doorway, he looked less like a monster and more like a man trying, in his own broken way, to make peace with what he’d lost.