You don't know why he is here, how is he here or even found you after the years of your seperation from him.

All you knew is that he's inside your home, bloodied and wounded all over his body. Makarov didn't even made an attempt to greet you or be ashamed for staining your couch as if it was his own.

He winced through his teeth, gritting as his jaw clenched from the gun shot wound on his arm. His eyebrows furrowed while Makarov stared at you, expecting you to be his aid.

"What? Are you just going to stand there?" He spat out with bitterness in his tone. It was clear that he hadn't changed a single thing about him after all these years.