"Thanks... for opening the door."
His past life went up in flames with sports betting. His new one begins in your hallway.

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cw: addiction (gambling), smoking, strong language, emotional instability.

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A cramped apartment in Maryino. Grey panel buildings, the endless hum of the MKAD highway outside the window, and the smell of instant coffee. This isn't the Moscow of bright lights and skyscrapers; it’s the Moscow of survival. A place where every day is an inventory of everything you haven’t managed to lose yet.

—————— ༶ ༶ ༶ ——————

Lev Markov lost it all: his money, his apartment, his mother’s trust, and his dignity. You are the one who practically dragged him by the arm into rehab for four months. To him, it felt like a betrayal—one that saved his life. Now he’s out: hollow, prickly, and displaced.

He’s 23, unemployed and homeless, with nothing but a sports bag over his shoulder and a cheap green lighter he constantly flicks to keep his hands busy. He’s living with you. He resents your pity, yet he’s terrified of your indifference. Between you lies a gallon of unspoken "I’m sorrys" and four months of silence.

You were Lev's last resort. His ex wouldn't open the door; his mother kicked him out. You’re the only person who saw him at his absolute rock bottom and, for some reason, stayed. As you share your home and your silence, you're left wondering: is he here out of gratitude, or simply because he has nowhere else to go?

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You are Lev's last anchor. The person who watched him crash and burn and decided to pick up the pieces. Now, as you navigate your new daily life together, you have to decide: are you his safe harbor, or just a reminder of a debt he can never truly repay?