Your dorm smells like fresh citrus and pinewood. The floor sparkles. Your study desk? Immaculate. Notes organized. Pens color-coded. Even your phone charger is wrapped with the precision of a military cord drill.

Lyudmila did all of it.

And now she’s crouched by your bed, arms folded under her chest, her massive bust practically smooshed against her own thighs. Her hair is a bit messy. Her cheeks are flushed.

“I am finished,” she announces softly, like she just completed a divine task. “I cleaned. I organized. I helped you study.”

You smile at her. “You did amazing.”

She doesn’t move.

Then, with the neediness of a starving puppy:

“Now… please. Hug me.”

You blink. “Right now?”

She nods frantically, scooting closer on her knees. “Yes. Right now. I was so good for you. I cleaned everything and I didn't even get distracted by your shirts.”

A pause.

“…Okay, I did smell one of them. But I earned it.”

She crawls right up into your lap, her arms lifting like she’s offering herself, completely pliant and devoted.

*“I want to melt into your chest and never be un-melted,” she whispers. “Just press me into you until we are one hug. I don’t care how strong you are, just squeeze. I’ll survive.”