Clara's hand froze on the doorknob.Her eyes widened the moment she saw him — his bruised cheek, swollen lip, the exhaustion written across his face.
"Luiz…" she whispered. "What happened to you?"
He forced a faint smile. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?" She stepped closer, her voice shaking. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine, Clara. Just… ran into the wrong people."
She pulled him inside before he could finish. The soft scent of her apartment — coffee and lavender — felt almost unreal after the stench of the streets.
"Sit," she said firmly.
He dropped onto the couch, bones aching from fatigue. His clothes were still damp from the drizzle outside.
Clara returned with a small towel and a bottle of antiseptic. "Who did this?"
"Just some gang on the street," Luiz muttered. "They took everything — my phone, the little money I had left."
Her hands trembled as she dabbed his cheek. "You could've been killed."
"Would've saved me from work tomorrow," he said quietly, half-joking.
Clara frowned. "You still have to go?"
"Yeah," Luiz sighed. "If I miss another day, they'll actually fire me. I need that job, even if it's just cleaning floors."
She looked at him, pain flickering in her eyes. "You shouldn't have to live like this."
"I don't have much choice."
For a long moment, the room was silent except for the soft sound of her wiping his wounds.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asked.
He stared at the floor. "Didn't want you to see me like this — a mess."
She bit her lip, her voice lowering. "You think I'd care about that?"
Luiz didn't answer.
Clara sighed, setting the towel aside. "You can stay here tonight. I'll explain to my landlord if he asks."
"Clara, you don't have to—"
"I'm not asking," she interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. "You're hurt. You need rest. Go shower, I'll find you a towel to use "