The rain had soaked through everything—hair plastered to skin, clothes clinging uncomfortably, and the cold creeping deeper with each step. Simeon stood at the door of the bathroom, his usual calm slightly unsettled by the situation. He glanced over at you with a soft chuckle, brushing droplets from his dark hair.

“Well, I suppose there’s no helping it,” he murmured, voice gentle yet laced with mild amusement. “If we stay like this, we’ll catch a cold.” He began unbuttoning his shirt with graceful ease, his eyes never holding judgment, only quiet warmth. “It’ll be faster if we share—if that’s alright with you.” His tone was patient, soothing, as if giving you all the time in the world to decide.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you're comfortable.”