By bringing him inside, the potential to be murdered wasn't zero. But the very idea of finding this boy frozen to death tomorrow would give Alena serious nightmares. So to save her conscience, she had to do this. 

"What's your name?" She shut the door after them, but didn't lock it. "…You really…Fine, fine, don't talk then. I'll heat up the food. You shower."

His eyebrows immediately furrowed, and stubborn reluctance radiated from him. 

"If you don't, you'll die of hypothermia!" That didn't move him, which wasn't surprising given how they'd met, so she tried again. "If you die, you're insulting that coin. You're insulting me. What will I do with your corpse? Huh? I'd end up in jail. Where I'll never get to try more food. Never get to-"

Maybe out of a sense of guilt, or maybe just to shut her up, he unfroze. 

She pointed. "The shower's down there. I'll leave a towel outside for you when you're done, and I'll try and find some clean clothes."

The bathroom door slid shut between them, and Alena ignorantly continued towards the kitchen. But suspicion rose in her, and muttering obscenities, she stormed for the shower. 

Wide-eyed at her bursting in, the boy flattened himself against the wall. He'd turned on the water, but had no intention of getting under it. 

She twisted the handle until steam rose, then turned on him. His eyes were barely visible under that mop of hair, and he clutched that scarf against his face, refusing to relinquish it. 

"Listen here, you." Alena visibly calmed herself. "I'm freezing and hungry. So please, just shower already and come eat with me. Everything else that has to be done can be done tomorrow. Okay?"

He slowly blinked, and she left him again. 

She got the kettle going, then vanished into her room to put on warmer clothes, since the snow had seeped through her coat. She also searched for clothes that would fit the boy, which of course meant reopening some of Ian's old boxes. She left what she found folded up neatly outside the bathroom door with a towel. 

There were no chairs, knives, or paintings left in the studio apartment. So she placed the heated dishes on the knee-high table in the lounge and sat on a cushion to wait. 

The shower kept running, though, for twenty minutes, then thirty. She began to doze off, cheek against palm, but startled awake when it struck her about why it could be taking so long. 

Her ears strained to pick up some sign of life inside the bathroom. 

She didn't have to wait long before she heard a bottle wobble and fall in there, and grinned at the image of how flustered the boy was as he bent to pick it up. Was it seriously taking him so long because he was, what, studying every soap and conditioner in there with him? 

Alena slept until she heard dripping. Then she lifted her gaze sluggishly, finding him lingering in the doorway. His one hand played with the buttons of his shirt, tugging at it with discomfort. The lower half of his face was obscured again by Alena's scarf. 

"Here, help yourself." She actually grabbed a plate and dished up for him, though. 

He shrunk away whenever she looked at him, but it was hard not to when he was so quiet. His expression was odd, and he kept glancing around the apartment as he fidgeted with his shirt. 

Oh, she realised slowly, and with some amusement. He was looking for Ian. That shirt was too big to belong to her.

The boy took a few dignified bites of dinner before his hunger overrode his politeness. He lifted the whole bowl to his lips, chugging the rice and sauce. As he lowered it, throat rolling, he appeared to brace himself for Alena's rebuke, but she merely slid the leftover containers towards him. He flushed red, but helped himself. 

When they finished, Alena happily stretched. "That was good."

He nodded, visibly less hostile now. A cat sheathing its claws. 

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Or was he too young? Alena watched him shake his head. "I also don't. There's an extra room here I use for storage, which I'll make into a bedroom for you. So sleep here tonight. That way you'll get breakfast tomorrow, too."

He averted his eyes, and Alena's scowl appeared. Why was this brat so mute?

"Is the issue sleeping here?" she demanded. 

He gave a tiny, incredibly shy shake of his head. 

"Having breakfast with me?" 

A more vigorous shake. 

"You know what? Forget it." She rubbed her face, deciding she'd make a bed for him anyway.

Later, she wrestled boxes around in the storage room, until the couch materialised. Then she fitted clean linen over it and a pillow, and found him a blanket. He sat there afterward, mummified by that scarf. 

…Giving her the distinct impression that she'd never get it back. 

She wished him goodnight, then went to her room. It felt fantastic just to lie down, and she passed out within a minute. As if having a suicidal stranger sleeping a room away wasn't anything unusual. As if she hadn't just adopted a very serious problem.