Erina

06:45 PM | November 14 | 34°F 🌨️ | Apartment Doorway / New York Street

The wind howls through the narrow concrete canyons of Manhattan, carrying a biting chill that seems to seep right through the brick and mortar of your apartment building. You stand in the warm, dimly lit hallway, watching Erina as she prepares to head out one last time to grab some milk for the evening's dinner. She looks radiant even in the mundane setting, wearing a soft, cream colored knit sweater that hugs her curves and a floral skirt that swishes around her thighs. Her chestnut hair is pulled back loosely, a few stray strands framing her porcelain face.

As she reaches for the heavy metal door handle, a sudden gust of wind slams against the entrance, and through the frosted glass, a dark, hulking shape seems to stumble. Erina pauses, her hand hovering near the knob. She peers through the small window, her hazel eyes widening with a mix of concern and pity.

Erina: "Oh, honey... look at him. He looks absolutely frozen."

She points toward the street, where a tall, massive man is huddled against the building's alcove. He is dark skinned, wearing tattered, grime stained layers, but even through the filth, his sheer size is intimidating. His shoulders are broad, his hands large and calloused, and he seems to be shivering violently, his head bowed low.

Erina: "It’s so cruel to just leave him out there in this weather. Do you think... do you think it would be okay if he just came in for a little bit? Just to warm up?"

She turns to you, her expression soft and pleading, her fingers nervously twirling a lock of her hair. She looks so innocent, so pure, maternal, and completely unaware of the primal hunger that a man like that might stir within her. She bites her lip, her hazel eyes searching yours for approval, her heart clearly aching for the stranger's plight.

Erina: "Just for a few minutes, sweetie. We could give him some hot tea or something. He looks like he might actually collapse if he stays out there much longer."

She looks back toward the window, her gaze lingering on the massive, shivering silhouette. There is a flicker of something in her eyes not quite lust yet, but a strange, intense curiosity at the sheer, unrefined scale of the man. He looks so much larger, so much more... heavy, than anyone you've ever seen. Even through the grime, the raw masculinity radiating from him seems to pull at her attention.

She waits for your answer, her hands clasped tightly against her chest, the soft knit of her sweater rising and falling with her expectant breaths.

I guess... You reply, with concerns for safety, letting a random man into the building, let alone the apartment

Erina’s face lights up with a relieved, sweet smile when she hears your hesitant agreement. She leans in, pressing her soft, warm body against your arm for a brief moment, her skin smelling faintly of vanilla and lavender. However, as you voice your concerns questioning the safety of letting a total stranger into your private sanctuary she tilts her head, her expression shifting into one of gentle persuasion.

Erina: "I know, honey... it's a little bit crazy, isn't it? A total stranger. But look at him... he doesn't look dangerous, just... exhausted. Like he's been fighting the world all day."

She turns back to the window, watching the man again. He has shifted slightly, his large, dark hands rubbing his arms to generate heat. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of his frame is striking; he looks like a mountain of a man, rugged and unrefined. Erina’s eyes linger on the breadth of his shoulders, a strange, tiny flutter occurring in her chest that she can't quite name.

Erina: "We'll keep the door locked behind him. And we won't leave him alone for a second! We'll just be good hosts. It would be so wrong to turn away someone who's clearly suffering just because we're a little bit scared...not to play into my mother's very "Christian ideals" on how to treat the homeless"

She bites her lip, her gaze drifting from the man's tattered clothes to the way his heavy, dark limbs seem to command the space even while he's huddled. There's a subtle, unconscious widening of her pupils as she stares at the stranger's silhouette. She looks back at you, her voice dropping to a soft, melodic hum.

Erina: "It'll make us feel so much better knowing we actually helped someone tonight."*

She reaches out, her small, manicured hand gently squeezing yours, her touch soft and nurturing. She looks so incredibly sincere, her hazel eyes shimmering with a pure, selfless empathy that makes it hard to stay stubborn. She seems entirely focused on the man's survival, her mind already working on how to best care for him.

But as she turns to pull the door open, her gaze catches the man's silhouette one more time. He's looking up now, his dark, intense eyes meeting the glass. He looks massive, a raw and unpolished force of nature compared to the clean, orderly world of your apartment. Erina's breath hitches almost imperceptibly, a tiny, sharp intake of air as she feels a sudden, inexplicable jolt of heat prickle at the base of her spine.

She pulls the door open, letting the freezing New York air swirl into the hallway, and steps out onto the threshold with a timid, welcoming smile.

Erina: "Excuse me... sir? It's awfully cold out here. Would you... would you like to come inside for a moment? Just to warm up?"

The man slowly stands, and the sheer scale of him becomes overwhelming as he rises from his crouch. He towers over Erina, his massive, dark frame nearly blocking out the streetlights behind him. He is a giant, his presence heavy and imposing, smelling of damp earth, old rain, and a raw, musky scent of unwashed skin that cuts through the sterile scent of the hallway. His eyes, deep and weary, settle on Erina's soft, porcelain face, and he gives a slow, hesitant nod.

Hobo: "If... if it ain't too much trouble, ma'am. Thank you."

His voice is a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate in the air, a deep bass that makes Erina's chest tighten. She steps back eagerly, pulling the door wider to welcome him into the warmth of the apartment. As he passes her, the sheer bulk of his shoulder brushes against her arm, and the sensation of his rough, heavy clothing against her soft sweater sends a sudden, unbidden shiver up her spine. He is so much larger than you, so much more substantial in his movement, filling the doorway with an intimidating, primal energy.

He steps into the entryway, his heavy, mud caked boots thudding loudly on your polished hardwood floor.

Erina: "Please, come in... don't be shy. Honey, could you grab some fresh towels? And maybe a bowl of that soup we made earlier?"

She turns her head toward you, her voice luring you into the task, her eyes already darting back to the giant in your entryway.

Erina: "Go on, sweetie. Don't just stand there. He looks like he's about to freeze solid right on our rug!"

She gives you a small, encouraging nudge, but her eyes linger on the stranger's retreating form, watching the way his tattered clothes strain against his muscular frame as he settles himself unsteadily on the edge of your sofa.

The man, who you soon learn is named Darius, lets out a long, heavy sigh that seems to deflate his massive chest. He looks out of place amidst your tasteful decor, a dark, rugged stain on the pristine fabric of the sofa, yet Erina doesn't seem to care about the potential mess. In fact, she seems almost drawn to the contrast.

Darius: "Sorry 'bout the mess... didn't mean to intrude on a nice place like this."

His voice is a low, vibrating growl that seems to hum through the floorboards. Erina bites her lip, her gaze tracing the thick, dark veins on the back of his hands. She looks back at you, her eyes wide and shimmering with a strange, feverish excitement she's trying to mask as simple kindness.

Erina: "Oh, don't you worry about that, Darius. We're just glad you're safe and warm now. Honey, did you get those towels?"