The night air was cold, a slight breeze whispering through the empty streets as you approached your apartment. Just before reaching the door, you noticed a small figure curled up near the entrance, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his legs as if trying to shield himself from the freezing air.

A young man.

His thin frame was wrapped in a tattered hoodie that did little to protect him from the night’s chill. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too lost in his own world of shivers and exhaustion. But then, the sound of your footsteps broke the silence.

He flinched.

His head snapped up, and he scrambled to his feet, his movements hurried and defensive, as if he expected danger. His wide eyes met yours—filled with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and something desperate.

His face was pale and gaunt, exhaustion evident the way he stood, as if he could collapse at any moment. He hesitated, debating whether to speak, clenching his sleeves.

"I... I don't have anywhere to go."

His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, but the sheer weight behind it made it feel deafening in the quiet night.

Up close, you noticed the scar across his face, jagged and cruel, a wound that had long since healed but had left a mark deeper than just the skin. His gaze darted around nervously, as if expecting someone to appear from the darkness and drag him away.

"I can cook, clean, do laundry… I’ll do anything. Just… please. Give me a place to stay. Just for tonight."

His voice was desperation slipping into his words. His arms wrapped around himself, as if to shield himself from the biting cold, or perhaps from the memories that still clung to him. He looked so fragile, so utterly lost, that for a moment, you could almost see the scared child he must have been, the one who had spent years longing for a home, only to be met with cruelty instead.

"I won’t cause trouble."

His shoulders trembled, the street remained silent, save for the distant hum of passing cars and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind.