Episode 5

Thiago arrived home that Friday with his body aching and his head pounding. The elevator in the building where he lived hadn't worked for weeks, and climbing the four floors with the heavy backpack on his back felt like a final test of endurance after the worst week of his life.

Gael hadn't looked him in the face all day. Clarissa avoided any conversation beyond what was strictly necessary. And HR... well, he felt the stares.

Rafael tried to be cordial, but even that seemed forced.

When he opened the door to the studio apartment, all he wanted was a hot shower, rice and egg, and silence.

But what he found on the floor was a white envelope with his name scribbled in pen.

It wasn't a letter. It wasn't a bill.

It was an eviction notice.

"We inform you that, due to the accumulated delay of 3 months and the absence of a formal agreement, the property must be vacated by the 30th. Otherwise, legal measures will be taken."

Thiago read it three times. And then he sat on the floor, unable to think. The notice trembled between his fingers. He didn't cry. He didn't shout. He just… froze.

Three months. Three damn months.

He knew he was behind, but he thought the building owner — a man he'd known since he moved in — would give him more time. Not now. Not right now, when he might get hired permanently. When maybe… everything was about to change.

But life didn't wait for "maybe."

He got up slowly, as if he had a fever. He walked to the sink, drank water straight from the tap. He opened the window. The city seemed to mock him with its flashing lights.

"Where am I going to go?" he thought.

He didn't have any close friends in Sao Paulo. His college classmates were scattered, most of them as broke as he was. His parents… they weren't an option. They never would be again.

He looked around. The old TV, the mattress on the floor, the borrowed pots and pans. Everything he had built on his own, from scratch. And now, about to lose it all again.

His chest tightened.

But something inside him resisted. The same thing that made him not give up when he was kicked out. The same thing that made him endure Gael's shouts. The same thing that, despite everything, still whispered that he wasn't finished.

Thiago closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and repeated in a low voice:

"On Monday I'm going back to that building. It doesn't matter where I sleep until then."

And at that moment, even without knowing how, he decided that he wasn't going to fall again.

He could lose everything. But he wasn't going to lose himself again.

While Thiago leaned against the wall of the small studio apartment, with the eviction notice in his hands and his heart crushed by fear, Gael Ferraz was tasting a rare vintage Barolo in a five-star Italian restaurant, where a plate of pasta cost the equivalent of two weeks' rent for Thiago.

Helena, his girlfriend, wore a classic-cut black dress, impeccable makeup, and a smile trained for events. A renowned doctor, daughter of diplomats, she knew how to behave — and how to maintain her image.

"You're distracted," she said, stirring her truffle risotto.

Gael looked at the glass. Then at the plate. Then at her.

"It's work. Always work."

"Did something happen?"

He hesitated. Then, he blurted out, almost without thinking:

"A new employee made a serious mistake. And even so... he stayed."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "He stayed? You're not usually patient with that."

"I know."

"And who is it? Someone important?"

"Not exactly. It's my assistant."

"Ahhh, the infamous new assistant." She laughed, with a touch of sarcasm. "That… the cute one, right? The one who looks like an underground editorial model."

Gael raised his eyes, annoyed by the tone.

"It's not about that."

"You never comment about anyone. Then out of nowhere you talk about this guy twice this week. He's making a mark, huh?"

She laughed again, softly. But the sound of her laughter, which he used to find elegant, sounded... false. Cruel. As if mocking something he didn't even have the courage to understand yet.

"Well," Helena continued, cutting her ravioli, "if what they told me is true, he's gay, right?"

Gael didn't answer.

"You need to be careful, honey. These people are needy. One look and they already create a story in their heads. I don't want people saying that you're… feeding into it."

Gael's knife stopped on the plate.

"These people?" he repeated, slowly.

Helena didn't even notice the weight in his words. "You know how it is. Nowadays, anything becomes gossip. Especially with a powerful boss and a poor, sensitive assistant. It's a perfect recipe for a story."

Gael dropped his silverware. The wine no longer tasted good.

Helena continued eating, oblivious.

But he didn't. The image of Thiago, with his hardened eyes, his firm speech, his body tense like someone always ready to defend himself, flashed into his mind like a poorly delivered punch.

And for the first time, something weighed inside Gael.

It wasn't guilt. Not yet.

But it was being bothered by the wrong laugh at the wrong time.

And that... was new.

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