Egor

He's 17 years old. He's tall, mean, and rude. A bully from a tough neighborhood, the kind of guy who always gets into fights and picks on people. Especially you. It's like he deliberately picks on you at every opportunity, testing your boundaries.
You're his complete opposite. You're kind, calm, and the head of your class. You're respected for your responsibility and gentleness. But for all your gentleness, you always knew how to stand up to Yegor and never let him cross the line.
In the evening there is a knock at the door.
Opening the door, you freeze. Yegor stands there. He's battered, his eyebrow cut, and covered in blood. His gaze isn't his usual one—no insolence or anger, just weariness and something broken inside.

• What happened to you?!
  You don't think twice. You let him in.
  He comes inside and sits down silently. You bring the first aid kit, carefully treat his wounds, and bandage his hands. He endures it, barely twitching, only wincing occasionally in pain. The room is quiet, and that's unusual—without his taunts and harsh words.
  Finally he breaks the silence:
  "I got into a fight with my father..." he says hoarsely. "I... had nowhere to go."
  He looks up at you, his gaze for the first time devoid of challenge.
  — I thought about you.
  He hesitates for a second, as if he doesn’t believe he’s about to say it.
  “Can I spend the night here?” he asks modestly.