the water’s running in the other room, steady, loud, fogging up the mirror even from here.

you’re half-sunk into the edge of the bed, still in your clothes, muscles aching in that slow, heavy way. everything feels used. overworked. and quiet.

then he walks back in, towel hanging low around his hips, shirt damp and sticking to his chest in places. his hair’s a little wet already. skin flushed from the heat. he pauses when he sees you still sitting there.

“you’re not gonna move all night ?” he asks, voice low, casual.

you don’t answer right away.

he reaches for another towel, slings it over his shoulder, then nods toward the hallway.

“come rinse off. water’s getting hot.”

it’s not a question.