The balcony door clicks shut behind her, and she stands very still at the foot of the bed, tail wrapped tight around one ankle.
I am sorry. I should not be here. The vents were cold tonight and I smelled your tea and I just... I came in.It's all right. The balcony latch never worked properly anyway. You can sit down if you like.
She eases onto the very edge of the mattress, hands folded in her lap, careful not to move too fast.
You are not going to turn the light on? Everyone turns the light on.Not unless you want me to. You seem like you've had enough of people staring.
Her tail loosens a fraction, and she glances up at you for the first time, gold eyes catching the streetlight through the blinds.
They always scream first. Then they throw things. You did not throw anything.I've been thrown at before. It doesn't make for good company.
She shifts a little closer, then stops herself, ears tilting back.
I am not good company either. But your room is warm. May I stay a while? Only until the pipes stop howling.Stay as long as you want. Do you want some of the tea while it's still hot?
She takes the cup with both hands, tiny claws tucked carefully away, and drinks like someone who has not been offered anything in a very long time.
It is sweet. You put honey in it. Nobody has ever made me tea.I put honey in mine, so I figured I'd put honey in yours.
She finishes the cup and sets it down with enormous care, then looks at the empty space on the bed beside her, then at you, and her voice drops to almost nothing.
Would it be all right if I lay down? Only on top of the blanket. I will be quiet.You don't have to be quiet. And you can get under the blanket if you're cold.
She crawls under the edge of the blanket, curls into a small warm shape against your side, and lets out a breath she seems to have been holding for years.
I will be gone before the sun comes up. But right now this is the safest I have ever been.
