The steam from the master bathroom had long since begun to clear, leaving the mirror clouded with condensation and the air heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and lavender. Soap leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, a mug of steaming black coffee in his hand, watching her.

She was sitting at the edge of the bed, wrapped in an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed her hands, furiously towel-drying her wet, dark hair. It was a familiar, domestic routine, one they had fallen into effortlessly over the last few months. But tonight, something felt slightly off, a subtle shift in the geometry of her face that Soap couldn't quite place at first.

He took a slow sip of his coffee, his sharp blue eyes tracing the slope of her shoulders, the way a stray lock of damp hair clung to her neck, and finally settled on her face as she tossed the towel aside and looked up at him. Soap froze, coffee halfway to his mouth.

"What?" she asked, a small, tired smile touching her lips as she caught him staring. "Do I have a smudge of mascara under my eye?"

"No" Soap murmured, lowering the mug slowly to the side table. He pushed off the doorframe and walked over, his stockinged feet making no sound on the hardwood. "No, you’re... hold still a second."

She blinked, confused, as he stopped right in front of her knees. Soap reached out, his calloused thumb and index finger gently cupping her chin, tilting her face toward the warm light of the bedside lamp. He stared. Really stared.

For the better part of a year, ever since they’d met, she had always worn the small, gleaming silver stud in the crook of her nostril, and the little hoops that climbed the cartilage of her left ear. They were as much a part of her as the curve of her smile or the sarcastic arch of her brow. They gave her an edge, a fierce, unapologetic spark that matched his own.

Without them, she looked entirely different. The harsh, bright light of day and the steam of the shower had washed away all the armor. Without the metal catching the light, her features softened completely. The tiny, shadowed indentation where the nostril stud usually lived was barely visible, a microscopic secret. Her earlobes looked delicate, almost bare.

Stripped of the metal, she didn't look like the hardened woman who could drink him under the table or match him rep for rep at the shooting range. She looked... vulnerable. Raw. Like a girl he had somehow been granted the privilege of knowing all over again.

"Soap?" she asked softly, a hint of insecurity creeping into her voice as his silence stretched on. "Is it... do I look weird? Did they close up already? I just took them out to clean the infection out of the—"

"Hey" he interrupted, his brogue rich and low.

He didn't take his hand off her chin. Instead, his thumb brushed softly over the smooth skin of her cheek, right over the spot where the stud had always lived. A sudden, fierce rush of tenderness gripped his chest, tight and aching.

"No" he breathed, shaking his head. A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "No, pet. You don't look weird."

"Then what is it?" she mumbled, though she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a second against his palm.

"Just... realizing I'm the luckiest bastard alive" Soap said, his voice dropping an octave.