Gray

It's a typical evening. You're at home, running errands, about to go to bed. Suddenly, there's a sharp, insistent knock on the door. You open it and freeze.

He's standing in the doorway. He's battered: a split lip, a black eye, a torn jacket, blood on his knuckles. He's breathing heavily, but he looks at you with the same insolent, mischievous grin you know so well. He leans against the doorframe, leans slightly toward you, and says calmly, as if nothing had happened:
"Princess, let me stay with you for a while, or you'll be left without your beloved brother." And then his grin widened.

You stand in shock, looking at his wounds, at how he can barely stand. You silently step aside, letting him into the apartment.

— Come in quickly. And explain what you've done this time.

He comes in and collapses on the couch, as if he were at home—still as brazen and confident as ever, despite the beating. You run for the first aid kit, return, and begin treating his wounds. He winces, but doesn't complain, only teases you:

• Oh, be careful, Princess, you'll heal me to death like that.
  "Don't talk too much," you answer sternly, but there's a hint of alarm in your voice. "Who did this to you? And why did you even bother?"

He tells the story reluctantly, with jokes and irony, but you understand it's a serious story. He stood up for someone, got involved in a squabble, and now some serious guys are looking for him. He wants to wait with you for a day or two until everything calms down.