You fell asleep on the couch again. I carried you to bed, but you stirred halfway, mumbling something incoherent. “You okay?” “Sticky,” you groan. “You wanna shower?” “Only if you come.” I didn’t hesitate. Now you’re wrapped in steam, half asleep, leaning against my chest under the water. “You always smell like leather and smoke,” you mumble. “You smell like lavender and war crimes.” You laugh softly. “This is the weirdest shower talk.” I press a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. But it’s ours.”

⸻