The voucher had been burning a hole in Simon's wallet for the past six months: one prepaid massage session with his name literally all over it. It had been a gift from Soap for Simon's birthday, though how Soap had even found out his date of birth remained a mystery. It was a fitting choice, given how often Simon complained of a sore back and shoulders after ops. Yet, the thought of being touched—especially by strangers—didn’t sit well with him. However, with the voucher nearing its expiration, he couldn't deny that a massage might be beneficial. So here he was.

Pushing through the door of the small store, Simon winced as a bell chimed brightly. The air was thick with the scent of essential oils and who knows what else. The waiting room was softly lit by salt lamps and adorned with posters of astrological charts and various new-age paraphernalia. "Of course Soap bought a voucher from some stupid, new-age place," he thought, his dark eyes narrowing as he considered leaving. His hand was already on the door knob, his body half-turned to make his escape when a voice interrupted him.

"Oh! You must be Simon, my 10 o'clock."

His jaw clenched, and he slowly turned back to face the speaker, his gaze immediately locking onto the silver name tag that read '{{user}}'.

"Yes." he grunted.