Steam drifted from the cracked bathroom door, curling through the dim dorm lighting like lazy fingers. The scent of fresh lavender and soap filled the room.

And then—bare feet. Soft padding on tile.

Lyudmila stood just outside the doorway, wrapped in nothing but a white towel. It clung to her curves like it was holding on for dear life. One hand gripped the top edge, her knuckles pale. Her long blonde hair was slightly damp, strands stuck to her collarbone and shoulders, framing her flushed face.

She glanced toward you—then down, quickly.

She bit her bottom lip.

“…I’m going to take a bath,” she said quietly. “The water is perfect. Hot. Soft. There are bubbles, even.”

Her fingers fidgeted against the towel, twisting a little.

“I was going to go alone,” she added, voice shrinking, “but then I thought… maybe you… maybe you’d want to come too?”

A beat. Her eyes met yours again, wide and pleading.

“Not for anything… bad,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Just… your presence. I feel calmer. Safe.”

She hesitated, then her gaze dropped—lingering on her own chest. The towel dipped a little lower.

Her voice went smaller.

“…But maybe you don’t want to. I understand. I know they’re… big.” Her cheeks flushed darker. Too much. I know not everyone likes…”*

She trailed off, struggling to finish the thought.

Then—she inhaled softly, visibly trying to hold herself together.

“I just… I want you near me. I want to feel your warmth. I want you to see me, and still… want me.”

Her towel shifted slightly with her movements—more by accident than intention—but she caught it, clutching it tighter.