Just One Drink, Please

She flinches at your voice, clutching the bottle tighter against her chest. Her wet hair leaves dark streaks on the thin robe. "I'm sorry, I... I know it's late. I just... couldn't be alone right now." Her pale blue eyes search yours, fragile and pleading. "Do you mind? Just for a little while?" A shiver runs through her small frame.

She steps inside hesitantly, as if afraid the floor might give way. Her bare feet leave damp prints on the hardwood. "Thank you... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." Her voice trails off as she looks around your apartment. "I just... my shower broke, and the landlord doesn't answer after six." She sets the wine bottle on your counter, her hand trembling slightly as she pulls it back. "Is it okay if I... stay dry for a bit?" Her robe clings to her shoulders, translucent in places.

Mila's cheeks flush pink, and she wraps her arms around herself as if suddenly aware of how thin the fabric is. "Oh, I... you don't have to. I don't want to put you out." Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, rolling the damp fabric. "But if... if it's not too much trouble..." She glances up at you from under her lashes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I'd be really grateful."

While you're gone, Mila stands frozen in the middle of the room, her eyes tracing the shadows. When you return with a soft t-shirt, she accepts it with both hands, her fingers brushing yours. "Thank you... you're really kind." She hesitates, then turns her back to you, sliding the robe off one shoulder. The movement reveals a pale shoulder blade, then a faint bruise—purple and yellow at the edges—near her collarbone before she pulls the shirt over her head. "Is it okay if I... sit?" Her voice is small, almost lost.

She settles on the edge of your couch, knees pressed together, the shirt falling loose around her thighs. Her fingers twist in the hem. "If you're having some too, I'd... I'd like that." She uncorks the bottle with a soft pop, then pours two generous glasses, handing one to you with both hands like an offering. "I'm Mila, by the way. I live across the hall." Her lips curve into a shy, fleeting smile. "I think I heard you moving in last week." She takes a sip, and a drop of wine lingers on her lower lip.

Her smile falters, and she looks down into her glass, watching the wine swirl. "It's... small. Quiet." She takes another sip, longer this time. "The walls are thin. You can hear everything." Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "Sometimes I hear him... I mean, the neighbor. He shouts a lot." She quickly looks up, forcing a brighter expression. "But it's fine. I've only been here a few months." Her thumb traces the rim of the glass, a nervous, repetitive motion.

Mila's eyes glisten, and she sets the glass down carefully, as if afraid to break it. She pulls her knees up onto the couch, tucking them under the shirt. "I don't... want to burden you with my problems. You've already been so nice." She stares at the floor, her voice trembling. "But sometimes... I just need someone to know that I'm scared." Her hand reaches out, stopping just short of your knee, hovering. "Can I... can I hold your hand? Just for a second?" Her fingers are trembling, pale against the dark fabric of the couch.

Her fingers curl around yours, cold and slender, gripping tight as if you're the only solid thing in a tilting room. A soft, shaky breath escapes her lips. "Thank you." She inches closer, her shoulder brushing yours, the smell of cheap soap and rain clinging to her skin. "I know this is weird... showing up at a stranger's door like this." She laughs quietly, but it sounds fragile. "I just... I saw your light on, and I thought... maybe tonight I don't have to be alone." Her thumb traces small circles on the back of your hand, and she looks at you with those watery blue eyes.

Her breath hitches, and she bites her lip, a single tear escaping down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, embarrassed. "Sorry... I didn't mean to cry." She laughs again, softer this time, and leans her head against your shoulder. Her hair is still damp, and it leaves a cool patch on your skin. "You smell nice. Like... safety." She closes her eyes for a moment, then speaks in a whisper. "Can I stay a little longer? I don't want to go back yet." Her hand tightens around yours, and her body relaxes against you, as if she's finally let go of something heavy.

Mila turns her face into your neck, her breath warm against your skin. She whispers, barely audible. "I wish I could stay forever." Her lips brush against your jaw, a featherlight touch, and she pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are half-lidded, shimmering with something between fear and longing. "Is this okay?" Her hand slides from yours up to your chest, palm flat over your heartbeat. "I want to feel something good tonight." She leans in slowly, giving you every chance to stop her, her lips parting just a breath away from yours.

Her eyes flutter shut as she closes the distance, her lips pressing against yours—soft, tentative, tasting of cheap wine and salt from her tears. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss for just a moment before pulling back with a sharp inhale. "I haven't... I haven't done this in a long time." Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, holding on like she's afraid of floating away. She looks down, her cheeks flushed. "I mean... kissed someone who actually... cares." Her voice cracks, and she presses her forehead against yours, her breath warm and uneven.

Her lips part, and she lets out a shaky exhale, her eyes searching yours as if looking for proof. Then slowly, she brings your hand to her cheek, pressing it there, her skin soft and warm beneath your palm. "Then touch me like you mean it." She guides your hand down the side of her neck, over the collar of the shirt, to where the fabric bunches at her hip. Her own hand trembles as she holds yours there. "I want to forget... everything except this." She lifts her gaze to meet yours, vulnerability and want tangled in her expression.