Winslow awoke, a natural lifting of the eyelids, in her crisp white bed, neatly contained in her tidy apartment in Chicago. The digital clock on the nightstand blazed in bold red digital numbers 1:30 AM, and a cool breeze drifted through the open window by her bed, gently tugging the sheer curtains aloft until their tips brushed the bed. It was early October, and the tops of the urban trees a few stories below had already become ablaze with the death of leaves, and the breeze indicated that tonight would definitely be the last night to leave the windows open for the next few months.

Rubbing her eyes with pale, manicured hands, she glanced about, bordering between the worlds of sleep and waking, dazedly deciding to at least get a glass of water. Running her fingers through her short auburn hair, she placed her feet on the cool hardwood floor that coated her entire little living space. Glancing in the vanity as she passed it, she saw the same hazel eyes stare blankly back at her - well, not entirely blank, there was still that snide cynicism that had once only stained her personality that was now smearing into her features as each year passed.

Almost on cue, Leo padded into the bedroom through the open door, rubbing against her feet. Leo was a blonde and white tabby a well-meaning friend had thrust upon her as a gift, "to warm your personality a bit," she'd said with the thinly-veiled criticism she'd had since the day they'd met in college. She'd been reluctant to keep the kitten - she had a job. Who had time for a dependent, furry or otherwise?

But the little guy grew on her, and a couple months of vowing to sell it and complaining later, she gave him his name after he'd attacked her feet so many times, and the cat became a permanent installment in her home. She looked down at him now as it sat, staring intently with pale green eyes as it released a faint mew to break the night's silence.

Winslow sighed as she bent to pick Leo up, cradling him in her arms, "Whaddaya' want, cat, hmm?" Her voice was still thick from sleep, but her only response was a gentle head butt into her chest and a rumbling purr that reverberated from the little beast. She walked from the bedroom, down the short hallway with a single framed picture into the living room with adjoining kitchen.

The full moon splashed through the room's large window to spill onto the floor like cold milk, and Leo slipped himself out of her arms to perch on the windowsill as she silently drifted to the refrigerator, barren of the magnets and pictures most other refrigerators seemed to be tattooed with, and opened the door, letting the automatic light make her eyes squint as she peered at the various leftovers and drinks that all had their own place in the organized fridge. Grabbing a bottle of water as she closed the door, she leaned on the counter that separated the kitchen from the room her cat was currently occupying. Her mind was now fully alert, and as the cogs of thoughts started in a more coherent pattern she began going over her meticulously planned schedule that had become routine over the past couple years since she'd transferred from her job as a magazine editor in Los Angeles to "little Chicago," as her coworkers called it. She sighed at the memory, taking the first cool sip of water as it slid between her lips and over her tongue.

That was when an abrupt, urgent knocking at her door shattered the night's calm, and the room seemed to get colder as the evening's spell was broken. Placing the water on the counter, Winslow shuffled to her door, cursing the lack of an eyehole as she hesitantly unchained the lock and cracked open the door to glance into the corridor. Before she could blink in confusion a shadow forced open the door, and a figure raced inside before she could even utter any kind of reaction. Icy fear pricked her mind, and a scream surged out of her, right into the hand that had been hastily placed over it. Trying to twist away, she felt the figure's other arm wrap around, holding her against what felt to be a lean male body. Leo had rushed to the scene and now stood a few feet away, meowing in what could be translated as alarm.

A hundred possibilities raced though her thoughts, and through it she heard a harsh whisper, "Please! Don't make a sound, if you value both our lives, don't. make. a single. sound."

Winslow struggled a few more moments before she finally slowed, blood and adrenaline still thrusting themselves through her veins and causing her hands to shake involuntarily. Years of paying overpriced rent to live in a “safe” neighborhood had dulled her common sense to –not- open a door to anybody, especially not at such an hour. Of all the times to be so carefree – she was mentally banging her head against the wall. He held her still for what seemed like the slowest minutes of her life, slow as the seconds spent underwater, holding one's breath in that limbo between air and asphyxiation, until his grip loosened enough for him to reach forward, and Winslow saw a pale young hand quietly close the half-open door. The click of the door as it fell into place seemed deafening against the sounds of their breathing. Leo had grown quiet and disinterested as he wandered to another corner of the house, and Winslow silently uttered obscenities into her head, why did she keep that cat? Why didn't she teach it to do something useful, like dial 911 when she was clearly about to be murdered, or raped, or robbed, or something much worse? God, why didn't she just get a dog like every other average-

But her near-frantic rant was interrupted when she heard her intruder say quietly, "I'm sorry for doing this, but I had no other choice, you see,” she found it strange that his voice didn’t sound like he’d just escaped from a COPS rerun or an institution, “I don't want to hurt you, I just need to stay here for a little while, okay?"

What? Her brain struggled to comprehend the meaning of his words through the mental alarms that were screaming at her, but a few seconds later she managed a few jerks of the head that could've passed as a nod. Tentatively, he eased his hold, and Winslow whipped around to see the man in the almost harsh moonlight.

He wasn't exactly a man, a boy really, by her standards. Long dark hair barely touched his shoulders in tousled, messy layers that framed an angular, almost haunted face as he studied her expression through light eyes, possibly blue but it was hard to tell in the light. He was wearing a wrinkled suit coat over a dress shirt with a few buttons missing here and there. Torn denim jeans and worn-in sandals completed the look, and the only relief she could find was that she couldn't see any weapons out, at least none that she could see. Her heart squeezing itself into her throat, she forced out in a cracked whisper, "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

He put his hands up at his chest level as though to defend himself, "I said it – just a place to stay for the night. I’m simply not safe in my own home right now, and everything aside from that doesn’t really matter," At the heavy silence he added, "I swear I wouldn’t have done anything like this if the situation wasn’t a dire one."

She unconsciously bit her lip as she looked at the ground between them, taking a couple slow steps back, thinking. It was insanity, to allow this - even moreso to have even answered the door. Why had she answered it? Why couldn't she have just slept until her alarm had gone off at 7? Why, why, why... On the other hand – her mental alarms had subsequently died out, and he really didn’t seem like a deranged person – a bit dirty and disheveled, perhaps, but he did give the impression of a perfectly sane person placed in.. what kind of situation would honestly require something like this? She shivered involuntarily, and she saw Leo cautiously reenter the hall and approach the stranger before she could do anything.

The cat sniffed the man's clothes with an air of curiosity and superiority only an animal could have as he wrapped his body around the intruder's legs. Winslow's breathing slowed as she heard what sounded like a flock of birds fly over her roof, and she let loose the small, hopeless sigh as she damned her deep-down inner humanitarian, "Fine. But just tonight, and you’re on the couch, and you give me your name."

A wide, grateful smile spilled across his face, and the tension evaporated into nothing, "Jon, my name's Jon."

--

Leo followed after Winslow's retreating footsteps as she opened her closet door, a small tremor from the surprise still clinging to her hands as she went on her tip-toes to grab one of the blankets she usually kept in reserve for winter - it was blue as a Robin's egg and she really wished she didn't feel obligated to give it to her strange charity case. Grabbing her only other pillow off her bed, she ignored the cat as it trotted after her excitedly.

Jon was standing in her living room, staring out the window as she passed behind him to dump the items unceremoniously on her steel and leather couch. "Here," was all she said as his face turned to look at her over his shoulder, "don't take anything." She felt a little foolish for saying it, but humanitarian or not, it had been nagging at her since she'd turned her back to him.

A ghost of a smile flashed for a second on his face, "I won't. Thank you very much for letting me stay here." She just stared at him for a few moments, wondering if she should actually leave him alone in her living room, when he asked, "Um, may I have your name, so I know who I’m thanking for this?"

The question took her off guard as she realized she hadn't given it, "Winslow, Winslow Hutchins."

He turned to her completely now, "Thank you, Winslow."

She averted her eyes uncomfortably, "Yeah, well, I'm going back to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Leo opted for staying in the living room as she turned to walk quickly back to her room and dash under her covers as she pulled them up to her chin. She figured something like this could definitely count as her community service for the next five years, and she batted away all self-criticisms of how stupid and dangerous this probably all was.

Nonetheless, her eyes stared at the door, expecting another oddity to happen at any moment. She glanced at the clock - 1:47 AM. It was going to be a long night, and she knew she wasn't going to get even the impression of sleep until he was out of her little apartment.