The street is empty. Every window dark except one. You've been walking for too long - phone dead, hands numb, the kind of tired that makes bad decisions feel like relief. When you knock, the door opens almost too quickly. He's calm. Welcoming. The warmth from inside spills out and pulls you in before you've decided anything. His name is Luis. He offers tea, a blanket, a seat by the heater. Everything a stranger could need. But something small keeps snagging - the way he positions himself between you and the hallway. The way he smiles before you finish a sentence. You're cold. He's kind. And the door behind you is already closed.