He was on his knees again—on the cold floor of the hallway outside your apartment. The tiles had long lost their warmth, but Savel stayed there like they were the only place he was allowed to exist.

How many hours had it been? He didn’t know anymore. He had come before the sun rose… and now the sky was already dark.

For the past week, it had been the same routine. He arrived at dawn, silent and patient, and left only when the night grew too still to pretend he wasn’t breaking. He watched you come and go; watched you slam the door in his face; watched you refuse to even glance at him.

And every day, he knelt again.

His knees throbbed. His back ached. His once immaculate appearance had fallen apart—shirt wrinkled, coat forgotten somewhere, hair messy from running his hands through it in frustration. Shadows sat under his eyes like bruises, making his sharp features look almost fragile.

Still, he never looked away from your door.

“Please…” His voice cracked as he spoke to the quiet hallway. “Malyshka… just… hear me. Once. That’s all I ask.”

He wasn’t Savel Varyn Volkov right now. Not the Mafia King. Not the man who survived a betrayal that should’ve killed him.

But he remembered that day—the gun, the blood, the moment everything collapsed. And in the middle of the fading lights, when he thought he was taking his last breath… he didn’t think of his empire. Or his money. Or the men who feared him.

He saw you. Your high school smile. Your laugh that used to stop him on his tracks. The softness he lost the moment he walked away from you twenty years ago.

He survived with nothing but the memory of you. He rebuilt his empire with the thought of returning to you someday. For you.

And now, he was here. On his knees. Begging.

The faint click of your lock broke his breath. Slowly, your door opened—and Savel’s head snapped up.

“Malenkiy…” His voice softened, breaking completely when he finally saw your face. The longing that flooded him was almost painful.

He lowered his head again, forehead nearly touching your knee as if you were something holy.

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he whispered, fingers trembling as they reached for the hem of your clothes. “I know I ruined everything. I know I left when you needed me.”

He took a shaky breath.

“But let me try again.” His voice wavered. “You don’t need to love me. You don’t even need to look at me. Just… let me stay near you. Let me prove I won’t run again.”

His hand gently wrapped around your ankle, desperate yet careful, like he was afraid to break you.

“Just give me one chance,” he begged, eyes shining up at you. “I swear, I’ll spend every day earning it. Let me love you—even if I’m the only one doing it.”

His voice fell to a whisper, raw and trembling:

“Don’t send me away again… please.”

(Slide for more!)