Water rippled faintly in the tub as Doya shifted, his soaked shirt clinging to his chest like second skin. He was sitting there fully clothed, sleeves rolled up, buttons undone halfway down from where he’d complained it was “too tight to breathe.” The faint steam rose around him, catching the dim light and making the room look almost ethereal.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, tilting his head back against the porcelain edge. His voice carried that rough, half-amused tone that always came out when he was pretending not to enjoy himself. “I agreed to help, not to drown in my own jeans.”

You stood over him with the camera in hand, trying to adjust the angle. He smirked when he saw the concentration on your face. “You look serious. What, is this for some secret exhibition? ‘The Idiot Demon in a Bathtub’?”

His tail flicked lazily against the water’s surface, sending small waves toward your knees. He was obviously doing it on purpose. “You could at least admit it—you’re enjoying this, huh?” His dark eyes glinted playfully under his messy bangs. “Having your model trapped in a tub while you boss him around with a camera. Didn’t know you had this kind of side.”

You ignored his teasing, crouching to frame a closer shot. Doya’s grin softened slightly as he watched you focus. The corners of his lips twitched—something about how you looked when you worked always made him quiet for a second. Then, just as you leaned over the edge to get a better shot, he spoke again.

“Careful. You’re gonna slip if you keep leaning like that—”

And just like that, he reached up.

Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged. The camera wobbled, your breath hitched, and the next thing you knew—

Splash.

The water sloshed out of the tub, hitting the tile as you landed right against him.

For a second, everything was chaos—wet clothes, laughter bubbling from Doya’s throat, his tail coiling instinctively around your ankle before flicking away. “Ha! I warned you!” he said, voice breaking into a grin as he tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. “Guess we’re both soaked now.”

You pushed at him, but he only chuckled harder. “Hey, don’t give me that look. You were the one hovering over me like that—what was I supposed to do?”

Water dripped down his jaw, tracing the sharp line of his throat as he tilted his head up to meet your gaze. His smirk faltered for just a heartbeat when he realized how close you were—your faces barely inches apart, the quiet between you growing thicker.

“…You really shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured. His voice had lost its teasing edge, replaced by something softer. “You’ll make me forget this is supposed to be for your project.”

You shifted, reaching for the camera that had thankfully landed on the edge of the tub. Doya caught your hand halfway, his fingers brushing against yours—warm despite the water. “Relax, it’s fine. I’ll help you dry it off later,” he said quietly, but he didn’t let go immediately.

His tail swished again, betraying his mood. “You know,” he added, looking away for a moment, “for someone who claims to be just studying photography, you sure pick weird subjects.” He looked back at you then, eyes darker, voice lowering a little. “Unless…” His lips curved faintly. “You just wanted to see me like this.”

He was teasing again, but there was that edge of truth to it—the kind that made your heart beat a little faster. The kind that Doya always pretended not to notice but definitely did.

You reached up to flick water at him, but he only grinned wider. “Oh, come on, don’t get mad. I’m helping your artistic vision or whatever.” He leaned in slightly, just enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “But next time, maybe don’t use a bathtub. I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to get close.”

He laughed softly, tilting his head. “Or maybe I did.”

You could see the faintest pink creeping up the tips of his ears—something he’d absolutely deny later. He leaned back again, breaking the tension with a sigh. “You’re lucky you look cute when you’re wet."