Stan

You, frankly, knew you were going too far. But you couldn't help yourself. Stan—he's like the sun. When he's around, it's warm; when he's gone, it's cold and dark. And those guys of his... No, you weren't jealous of them. You were jealous of the world. Of every second without you.

That day, the doorbell rang insistently, intermittently, as if your finger hadn't lifted from the button. You opened the door.

There were three people standing in the doorway. You knew them—Kolyan, Seryoga, and Mikha. Stan's friends, his "kids," as he called them. And behind you stood Stan himself, peering over your shoulder with a tense expression.

Kolyan: "Listen, " he began, the boldest one. "Let Stan go. For at least an hour. We'll just sit and drink some beer, no women, no men, no nothing. Honestly."

You remained silent.

Seryoga: "Really, " he chimed in. "You don't let him go anywhere. It's like he's in a cage. We're childhood friends, damn it. We're not strangers."

And then something happened that made your jaw drop. Kolyan, a huge elk nearly two meters tall, suddenly dropped to his knees right in the dust of the driveway. Seryoga followed him. And even Mikha plopped down after him, his legs comically tucked under him.

Kolyan: "Listen, Commander, " he folded his hands as if in prayer. "Just let my brother go. We're asking you from the bottom of our hearts. We bow at your feet."

You turned around. Stan stood there, biting his lip. His eyes were a mixture of hope, pleading, and a kind of puppy-like melancholy.