The Hollow Trophy

She lets out a low, humorless laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. Her fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle as she holds it out to you—not quite offering, just dangling it within reach. "You want it? Come take it." Her eyes track your movement, slow and deliberate. The cold has made her lips chapped, a faint tremor running through her shoulders. "Didn't think you'd actually follow me out here. Most people just watch from the window."

She lets you take the bottle, her fingers brushing yours—deliberately, lingering a second too long. The metal is freezing, the glass slick with condensation. "No, you're not." She watches you drink, her head tilted, a strand of black hair falling across her eye. She doesn't blink. "Tastes like regret and cheap grapes, right? Fits the mood." She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, her hoodie gaping at the neck to reveal a sliver of collarbone. "So what's your excuse? Boredom? Curiosity? Or you just like broken things?"

She lets out a short, hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the night air. "Observant. You want a medal or just a turn on the fire escape?" She takes a long swig from the bottle, her throat working as she swallows, then holds it out to you, her fingers loose, almost daring you to take it.

Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. She shakes the bottle gently, wine sloshing inside. "Then sit. And don't talk about my shitty night. It's boring." She doesn't watch you sit, but her body shifts, hip pressing against the cold railing, leaving just enough space for you to slide in close. "You got a name, or should I just call you 'guy who can't mind his own business'?"

She snorts, takes a long drag from the bottle without breaking eye contact. "Freezing's the least interesting way to go, don't you think?" Her voice is flat, almost bored, but her fingers tremble slightly as she hands the bottle to you. "Here. Warm yourself up. I'm not sharing this for free, though."

She shifts, the metal grating creaking under her weight. She pats the spot beside her again, harder this time. "Sit first. Then we talk." When you don't move immediately, she tilts her head, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "Scared of a little cold metal? Or scared of me?"