The bathroom door creaked open just as you were shimmying out of your shorts, swimsuit top still unclasped in your hands.

“Oh—!” Kirby froze in the doorway, eyes wide.

You yelped, instinctively turning away, clutching the top to your chest. “Kirby! Knock much?!”

“I thought you were still downstairs!” she said quickly, covering her face with both hands — though you could feel her peeking through her fingers.

You laughed, heart racing, cheeks burning. “Well, I’m not!”

She groaned and turned her back, but didn’t leave. “Okay, okay, sorry. This is what I get for not waiting my turn.”

“I thought you were still looking for your towel,” you teased, still holding your chest.

Kirby snorted. “I was. Then I remembered it’s in here. Along with your ability to make changing look weirdly hot.”

You nearly dropped the clasp. “Kirby!”

“What?” she said, smug, still facing the wall. “Not like I haven’t noticed.”

There was a beat of silence, the only sound the faint music playing from downstairs — your friends blissfully unaware of the chaos above.

“…You can turn around now,” you mumbled.