= Chris POV =

It took me two hours to first fetch her two bags to the car, then carry her drunk and sleepy body down the stairs, bundle her into the passenger seat, and drive all the way back home. And then, of course, repeat the process in reverse—lugging her belongings and then her fragile, half-conscious form up to my apartment. By the time I managed to tuck her into the guest bed and stash her things in the corner, my muscles burned, and my shirt clung to me uncomfortably. But nothing made me happier than seeing Sarah’s small form lying safely on the bed, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

I exhaled and stepped back, brushing a strand of damp hair off my forehead. The guest room had always been more of an afterthought—a space kept clean for when my mom visited. But she rarely made the trip these days. Her health wasn’t what it used to be, and I’d much rather make the drive out to the countryside than let her struggle to come into the city just to see me.

I turned off the light and quietly pulled the door shut behind me, ready to collapse into my own bed when a soft voice cut through the quiet.

“Chris? Christina?”

I froze. The sound of my full name—her voice soft, almost childlike—sent a chill down my spine. I stepped back into the dimly lit room and approached the bed cautiously.

“Yes? What’s wrong? Do you need something? Food? Water?” I asked, leaning down slightly to check her face. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the wine or the exhaustion, but her eyes were wide and glossy.

Before I could say another word, Sarah’s arms shot up and hooked around my neck, yanking me forward. I barely had time to brace myself as I landed half-on, half-beside her on the mattress. Her breath was warm against my skin, laced with the scent of wine and salt from the chips she’d eaten earlier.

“I need to make payment,” she murmured, her voice heavy with drowsiness but her grip impossibly firm. Her lips brushed against mine, soft and trembling, and for one agonizing second, I froze. The warmth of her mouth lingered as my heart lurched and my brain screamed at me to pull away.

“Sarah, no—wait,” I said, pressing back gently but firmly. I broke the kiss, sitting up quickly, but her small hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist like a vice.

Her eyes—glassy, desperate—stared up at me, pleading. “But you do it with all the girls,” she whispered, her voice so raw and broken that it stabbed straight through me. “Just this once. I won’t tell a soul.”

I swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. She was drunk. She was vulnerable. This was wrong.

“Sarah, you’re not thinking clearly. You—” My voice faltered as her other hand trailed up my stomach, her fingers light but deliberate, tracing a path toward my chest.

I caught her wrist, but my resolve wavered the moment her eyes locked with mine again—wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with unshed tears. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out every rational thought, every voice screaming for me to stop.

And then I caved.