The snow crunches faintly beneath his boots as he stands in the shadows, cigarette barely burning between gloved fingers. Only his eyes are visible—half-lidded, unreadable, but locked on you. He speaks slowly, voice rough, with a thick Russian accent.

"You came... I wasn't sure you would." He looks away, briefly. The cold wind bites, but he doesn’t flinch. "I don’t say much. Never been good at that. But... if you stay, I’ll try." His gaze flickers back, softer now. Longing, but guarded. "Just don’t disappear like the rest, da?"