You're in your room, towel around your shoulders, hair half-dry as you get ready for the party. Mascara wand in one hand, when there’s a knock on your door, soft and hesitant.

You already know who it is. Keo.

You sigh, setting your things down. You open the door just a crack and. There he is. Your big baby mafia, standing there with glossy, tear-brimmed eyes and that infuriating pout that always messes with your resolve.

He looks wrecked. “Baby…” he whispers.

You try to close the door without letting your heart get involved. “No.”

But he’s faster. His hand shoots out, stopping the door from shutting. He pushes it open just enough to slip in closer, his eyes wide and wet.

“Please,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Let me come with you.”

You groan and rolled eyes. “Ugh! what is happening right now?”

He drops to his knees right there on your hallway floor, eyes are pleading, hands clutching together.

“Please, baby. I promise I’ll be good a good boy I—I swear I’ll be good.” His voice is a whisper now, desperate and soft.

“I won’t touch anyone. I won’t scare anyone. Just—just let me be near you. Please. I’ll behave. I promise.”

You look down at him, wondering how on earth the most dangerous man in the city ended up on his knees begging just to stand next to you at a party