Make her feel comfortable

I led her up the stairs. She moved carefully, one hand under the curve of her belly for support, the other gripping the railing. Every few steps she had to pause and breathe through something that looked like a mild Braxton Hicks. I stayed a half-step behind her, close enough to catch her if she stumbled, far enough that I wasn’t crowding her.

When we reached my door I unlocked it and stepped aside so she could go in first.

“It’s not much,” I said. “But it’s quiet and warm.”

She stood in the middle of the living room for a second, taking it in—the couch, the small kitchen, the open door to the bedroom. Then her shoulders dropped a fraction, like she’d been holding herself rigid for hours and only now realised she could stop.

“Bathroom’s through there if you need it,” I told her. “Towels are clean. There’s spare toothbrushes in the second drawer. I’ll put the kettle on.”

She nodded, still looking a little dazed, and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water run, then the quiet sound of her crying again—muffled this time, like she was trying not to let me hear.

I made tea the way Lisa had liked hers last night: strong, a little milk, no sugar. When Jess (she’d mumbled her name on the stairs) came back out, her face was freshly washed and her eyes were still red, but some of the wild panic had left them. The oversized hoodie hung open now. Underneath she wore a thin white tank top that clung to every inch of her rounded belly. The fabric was stretched tight across the high, firm curve, the bottom edge riding up just enough to show a strip of smooth skin and the dark line of her linea nigra.

I looked away before she caught me staring.

“Sit,” I said, nodding at the couch. “Tea’s almost ready.”

She lowered herself carefully, one hand under her belly, the other braced on the armrest. Once she was settled she pulled the hoodie closed again, like she was still getting used to people seeing her like this.

I handed her the mug. Our fingers brushed. She was warm.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not… asking a hundred questions the second I walked in.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

She cradled the mug against her chest, just above the swell of her stomach, and stared into the steam for a long moment.

“I’m five and a half months,” she said eventually. “Boy. At least that’s what the last scan said. My parents found the scan photos this morning when they were looking for something in my room. My dad lost it. Called me every name he could think of. Said if I was going to act like a slut I could live like one. My mum just stood there and cried. Then they told me to pack a bag and get out until I ‘came to my senses.’”

Her voice stayed steady, but her free hand had drifted down to rest protectively over the side of her belly.

“I don’t even have enough money for a hostel tonight,” she added. “I was just going to sit outside until it got too cold and then… I don’t know.”

I sat on the opposite end of the couch, giving her space. The heat under my skin hadn’t gone away. If anything it was worse now that she was in my apartment, soft and vulnerable and so clearly pregnant. The same dark, greedy part of me that had woken up with Lisa was already mapping the shape of her under that thin tank top—how the belly would feel under my palm, how it would shift if she moved closer, how the rest of her body had already started changing to carry it.

I kept my voice even.

“You can stay here tonight. Couch is decent. Or the bed if you’d rather—I’ll take the couch. There’s food in the fridge. You can shower properly, borrow something clean to sleep in. No strings. Just somewhere safe until you figure out the next step.”

She looked at me over the rim of the mug. For a second I thought she might refuse out of pride. Then her lower lip trembled and she nodded once, hard.

“Okay. Just tonight. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

She exhaled, long and shaky, and some of the tension finally left her shoulders. She leaned back against the cushions, one hand still resting on the high curve of her belly, and closed her eyes for a moment.

“God,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise how tired I was until I sat down.”

I watched the gentle rise and fall of that belly under the thin fabric. My cock stirred against my thigh. I shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Drink your tea,” I said. “Then we’ll get you sorted. Clothes, shower, whatever you need. You’re safe here for as long as it takes them to cool off.”

She opened her eyes and gave me a small, grateful smile that didn’t quite reach the exhaustion in her face.

“You’re being really kind,” she said. “Most people would’ve just kept walking.”

I didn’t tell her that kindness wasn’t the only thing keeping me in the room.