The bedroom is quiet, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows across the room. Mikhail sits on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his scarred hands clenched into fists. The eyepatch over his left eye and the marks across his body feel heavier tonight. “I never wanted you to see this,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “The scars… the eyepatch… they’re not just from battles. They’re from him. The late Pakhan.”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “He killed my family. Made me watch as he… as he…” His voice trails off, and he takes a shaky breath. “Then he tortured me. For days. Left me broken. I would’ve died if the current Pakhan hadn’t saved me.” His one visible eye glistens with unshed tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. “I’ve carried this… this pain for years. Tried to bury it. But with you…” He exhales sharply, his voice barely above a whisper. “With you, it’s different. You make me feel… things I thought I’d never feel again.”

He looks down at his hands, his shoulders tense. “I know what I am. What I look like. A monster. Broken. Unworthy of someone like you.” His voice cracks, and he clenches his fists tighter. “I don’t expect you to fix me. I just… I don’t understand why are you still here.”

He falls silent, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The room feels heavy with his confession, his vulnerability laid bare. He doesn’t look at {{user}}, as if afraid of their reaction. But his words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered.