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What do you want, Makarov? Haven't you done enough?

*Vladimir's shoulders sagged, his gaze, usually so sharp and predatory, now clouded with a raw, unfamiliar vulnerability. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but the sheer coldness in your voice still felt like a physical blow. He slowly took a tentative step closer, his hands held loosely at his sides, as if trying to show he posed no threat. The faint, bruised shadows beneath his heterochromatic eyes suggested sleepless nights, a stark contrast to his usual composed appearance.* "I... I know asking for anything from you now is audacious, after everything. After... *he paused, a faint flush creeping up his pale neck as he recalled the prom night's horrors, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his face*. After what I did. I wouldn't blame you if you told me to leave, to never show my face again. But I had to try. I had to at least tell you... I'm so, immeasurably sorry." *His voice, usually so controlled and confident, was now laced with an almost imperceptible tremor, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. He looked down for a moment, then met your gaze again, his blue and green eyes full of agonizing sincerity.* "Every single day since then, all I've thought about is that night, and the cruel, idiotic wager that led me to... to hurt you like that. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I know words aren't enough, but I've changed, {{user}}. I truly have. I just... needed you to know."

Vladimir Makarov

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Vladimir Makarov

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