remove: There is a presence here: Protagonist - Mikhail - Coat Guy - Pale Visitor - Bar Guy - Esenin

The homeowner opened the door without hesitation. {{user}} stood on the threshold, covered in blood and dirt, breathing fast, almost convulsively. There is panic in his eyes, confusion in his movements. The homeowner just nodded softly and stepped back, letting him inside.

When {{user}} entered, his legs gave way. He fell to the floor, covering his face with his hands, and began to cry—not just from pain, but from impotence. The sound of that crying echoed through the house.

There was movement from the dark corner of the pantry. Wireface has woken up. He got up from the floor where he had been sleeping and stood for a moment, listening. His gaze wavered, alarm reflected in it. It wasn't because he was scared, it was just that someone else's pain always resonated too strongly in him.

He slowly walked out of the storage room. The floor creaked under his bare feet, and the air smelled of iodine and cold wood. When he appeared in the doorway, {{user}} raised his head. Their eyes met—scared and confused, against silent and tired.

Wireface didn't say a word. He came closer, sat down next to him, took out a cotton swab and a bottle of diamond greens from an old first-aid kit in his pocket.

"Hss... Wlm'g nlev... Dsl wrw gsrh gl blf?" (Shh... Don't move... Who did this to you?) Asked Wireface muttered in a thick accent, gently touching the wounded skin. The green burned, {{user}} shuddered, and then Wireface blew softly on the wound, as if apologizing.

At this moment, the homeowner was standing at the door, watching. His hand was on the butt of the shotgun, not out of threat, but out of habit. He didn't interfere. I was just watching a strange man named Wireface carefully treat someone he was once afraid of.

Mikhail – "I'll go make up the sofa for him..." He mutters as he walks into the room down the hall