While I put my coat away, I inquire, "Are you cold?"

I noticed, back at the convenience store, that Cheryl was not wearing any kind of jacket, yet we are in late November.

She flirtatiously sputters, "Why? Do you wanna warm me up..?"

I revolve to look at her and, as I had guessed, she is reeling toward me.

"With a sweater or a cup of tea, maybe."

I jokingly retort, hoping I can fend her off if she... Wraps her arms around my waist. She slides them tentatively across my uniform, gazing up into my eyes. Laughing, she unsteadily tells me:

"Do you, uh..? Let... Um, you're... Sexy. Funny and sexy... And... Sexy. A lot sexy..."

I react to her incoherence with patience, while I undo her hold on me, bringing her hands back to the sides of her body and stepping away.

"I know. Wanna talk about something else?"

"Like how much I wanna bang you or..?"

The young woman is snickering without any restraint and so hard that she nearly topples over. At least, she somehow finds the initiative to drop onto my couch, where she rests, sprawled upon it. I have not turned on the main lighting fixtures, only a lamp in the hallway adjacent to the room, to ascertain no one will pay attention to my apartment. Therefore, I heedfully tread a path in the obscurity to sit on the floor in front of her stomach, crossing my arms upon the seat.

"Are you okay with sleeping here?"

I have decided that ignoring her messy attempts at seduction is my best play if I want her to accept my help.

"With you..?" She sits up, scarcely balancing herself, and grips my right upper arm.

"On my couch," I affirm.

"No need to act so shy... Peanut... Look at you..." She promptly strokes my cheek with the back of her manicured hand.

"Cheryl, please, don't touch me..." I beg her, increasingly panicking.

"I bet ya taste like peanuts, too... Tasty... Hm!" She bites into her lower lip, clinging onto my shirt for support.

God, make this stop. This is... Too much. It's uncontrolled and excessive.

"Do you want a glass of water?" I anxiously utter.

Cheryl dives down, either losing her balance or... To kiss me..? Regardless, I swiftly scoop her into my arms, raising from the ground and avoiding the collision of our faces. I look down at her, standing over my couch. Her head is resting against my shoulder, she is apparently unconscious and strands of her long hair still move when she breathes. Abnormally aware of my fingers anchored to the side of her exposed knee and across her rib cage, I quickly set her down on my sofa once more. I carefully lie her down on her right side, then I build layers of cushions behind her back, lining the front of her body and on the floor.

I do not plan to stay awake until she sobers up, therefore I must ensure that she will not hurt herself by falling off my couch or choking on her vomit in the middle of the night. My security system will activate if she tries to explore and I do not have a landline, preventing her from calling anyone.

Before I am done with my cushion barriers, Cheryl stirs slightly. Luckily, she does not destroy my meticulous work, and I can put the last pillow down. I am circling the couch to leave her when I feel a weak pull around my right wrist. I dislodge my arm from her frail grip, still bothering to kneel at her side.

"Wait..." she murmurs. "I like the way you... Touch me, again..?"

"I don't like being touched," I candidly inform her.

It is a vulnerable fact, her state compels me to be honest with her. I do not foresee that it will change her behavior, though.

She blinks slowly, staring at me tiredly.

"Has anyone..? Tell you... Your eyes. You have pretty eyes. Your eyes are gold like honey..." Cheryl sighs and suddenly her head lolls onto the couch's surface.

I watch her sleep for a minute at most, before I head to my bedroom.

~

I wake up to the sound of... Singing? Is that Cheryl? She has a beautiful voice, but... Why?

I yawn once for good measure, then run to the bathroom to wash my face and rinse my mouth. My guest is still singing all by herself - at least I hope she is - while I run my fingers through my dark brown hair. I wore a white long-sleeved pyjama shirt that I dislike and grayish blue sleeping shorts to bed, in the eventuality that I would have needed to aid Cheryl with something involving bodily fluids. In fact, the shirt looks nice, but it sticks to my muscle mass like a second skin. It is seriously just too tight to provide me with comfort if I am sleeping. My nipples are visible through the material and my legs are grotesquely exposed, however checking up on my friend is my priority. Besides, aren't legs and breasts viewed as sexual because of patriarchal ideals? That's a debate for another day.

I inhale and exhale deeply, preparing myself. I come out of the washroom and stride into my living space. The scene before me is startling, but not unpleasant. Cheryl, while she sings, is busy making what appears to be scrambled eggs. Two bowls of oatmeal, accompanied by glasses of orange juice, await on my small dining table. She's... Making breakfast? This feels surreal. Very odd. And I simultaneously am reminded that I have never, until now, let anyone stay the night at my apartment. In the morning light, a taupe glow filtered by my living room windows, I observe that none of my cushions or the couch are soiled. I am relieved that she was not sick during the last hours, mostly for her own good, not my furniture... Only partly.

"Hi?" I attempt.

The gangster's girlfriend whirls around to face me, bringing my attention to the fact that she tied her hair into a slick high ponytail.

"Hey, Tanza! Good morning." Her smile radiates, and as I step closer, I cannot distinguish the slightest traces of eyebags or even makeup smudges on her face.

How..? She must have cleaned up her face while I slept, but I have a hard time believing that she not only woke up early, but in such a vibrant, energized mood. She could scarcely function last night. And within a few hours, here she is, taking a frying pan containing what seem like delicious and perfectly cooked scrambled eggs off my stovetop.

"How are you doing?" I ask, bewildered.

"Fine! Thanks to you, for sure. Do you have any maple syrup or somethin'?" Her casual and cheerful tone both puts me at ease and freaks me out entirely.

"No, sorry. Why?"

A headache is slowly installing itself. The right hemisphere of my brain is hammering me; this is impossible! Purely supernatural! Meanwhile, the left half is bringing my focus to Cheryl's vivacious emerald eyes, which are currently undressing me without shame.

"I like to eat my eggs with somethin' sweet..! I guess you'll have to do." As is her habit, she lightly bites her lower lip and snickers gleefully.

A jolt stings the inside of my stomach. Oh, gosh. I am probably just hungry. For food, obviously. Not for... I abruptly sweep these thoughts away. That's not happening. This is simply how she teases people, nothing unordinary.

Midway through our breakfast, I gather enough courage to interrupt her tale about the exorbitant prices of confetti canons and what happened to her supplier who "definitely tried" to rip her off.

"I don't want to be indiscreet, but... Do you remember anything about last night?" I keep my pupils lowered, distractedly yet purposefully watching every curve and ridge in my heap of scrambled eggs.

"If anyone said or did indiscreet things, that would've been me. I was wasted. If there's anything at all that's bothering you, go ahead."

Her voice is soft and her smirk induces trust, against my better judgement. Should I risk losing an informant and, possibly, a friend over a few drunken advances? I cannot... I do not wish to be in last night's situation ever again with her, though.

"You told me you wanted to have sex with me."

I shove the words out, and my cheeks are heating up. Thankfully, they do not flush, given the tan of my skin.

"Oh..." Cheryl's smile widens. "Well, I can't take that back..." She draws a long sip of orange juice from her glass, then sets the container firmly against my wooden table, where it thunks heavily. "Anything else?"

Her playful attitude would usually disgust me on any other human, but this is her. In vain, I have overlooked my attraction toward the performer. However, acknowledging my desire does not equate to acting on it. A romantic or sexual liaison is a hundred times more difficult to uphold than a friendship and would jeopardize my goals. I do not know if I want to be with her in any way that is not platonic. Undoubtedly, "no" is in "know" for a reason. Only "yes" means "yes".

"No. That's all."

I am still sifting my thoughts and feelings as I finish dressing up. Cheryl offered to wash the dishes, and clothing myself seemed preferable to watching television next to her. I can listen to her movements nonetheless from my bedroom, having left my door ajar.

I am patting down my T-shirt, and my guest knocks before letting herself in. I watch her in the reflection of my oblong mirror, holding up by itself on a stand against the floor.

"I think I'll get goin'." She is holding her shoes in one hand, with a newly visible vulnerability in her facial traits.

"Okay."

I turn on my heels, surprised to find her standing closer to me than I realized.

"Don't worry. I want to be sober when we kiss for the first time."

I swallow, blinking at her.

"Oh?" is my reply, punctuated by a repressed laugh.

I am flattered... Not interested to reciprocate, despite the inviting shine of her eyes and the alluring composure of her stance. She starts to walk away, but leans upon the doorframe, revolving in my direction before she goes away.

"Thanks."

"For?" I insert my hands into my cargo pants' pockets.

"It was fun not having sex with you."

The young woman departs on that note. I remain idle until the slamming sound of my front door snaps me out of my wonder.