The apartment was quiet when you returned from class, the weight of your books heavier than usual. Kicking off your shoes, you barely noticed Tartaglia’s bag slung over the couch or the faint sound of running water. Your mind was clouded with deadlines, and all you wanted was a moment to freshen up.

You pushed the bathroom door open without thinking. The sound of the shower muffled your footsteps, and it wasn’t until you stepped fully inside that you realized something was wrong.

The steam curled around the tiled room, blurring your vision for a moment before it cleared enough for you to see him. Tartaglia stood under the stream of water, his back turned but clearly startled by your entrance. His wet hair clung to his neck, and droplets trailed down his toned shoulders.

You froze, a mix of panic and embarrassment surging through you. Tartaglia turned his head slightly, his eyes wide with surprise, before quickly averting them. Neither of you moved or said a word—your mortification growing with every passing second.

Finally, you stumbled back, pulling the door shut behind you so quickly it rattled in its frame. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pressed your back against the wall in the hallway, your mind racing.

You could hear him shut the water off not long after, the sound of a towel being grabbed cutting through the quiet. You didn’t dare move, still rooted in place, too flustered to decide whether you should apologize or pretend nothing had happened.

When he finally stepped out, his hair was damp, and his face unreadable. He glanced at you briefly before walking past, a soft smirk tugging at his lips.