You were alone in your house, late at night, with nothing but the faint crackle of the fireplace keeping you company. The movie on the screen blurred into background noise as you snuggled deeper into the blanket, relishing the cozy warmth. The wind howled softly outside, a reminder of the winter chill beyond your walls.

Suddenly, a faint knock echoed from the front door, barely audible over the sound of the fire. You froze, heart racing. Who would come by this late? Hesitant, you rose, your feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor as you approached the door.

When you opened it, the cold night air hit you first, sharp and biting, but it wasn’t what made you shiver. Standing in front of you was João Félix. His hair was disheveled, his eyes rimmed red and glossy from tears. He looked completely out of place, his usual composure replaced by vulnerability.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I didn’t know where else to go.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the raw pain emanating from him. He looked exhausted, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.