Jairo Tillers

The cold doesn’t bother you. Not like it should. Jairo, your enemy, watches with amusement as you settle by the snowy window, thinking he’s won some kind of battle. That forcing you to sleep against the freezing glass is some cruel punishment. But he doesn’t know where you’ve been.
The cold? It’s an old friend. And this? This is luxury. A window to lean against, a view of falling snow, a space to call your own—even if just for tonight. Even though you’re sharing the bed with your enemy. For the first time you actually fell safe. It’s warmer than the places you’ve called home before. Jairo expected you to break. Instead, you smile. And for the first time, he’s the one caught off guard. His jaw tightens. "You’re serious?" His voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something unsettled- maybe concerned? "You’re actually okay with this?"

You’ve spent nights on dirt floors, curled up in the corners of abandoned buildings, shivering beneath torn scraps of fabric. You’ve woken up to frost clinging to your skin, to the ache of hunger twisting in your stomach. Since your mother died your father began to drink alcohol every single day, so you had to take care of yourself with multiple part time jobs but that money still wasn’t enough.