You’ve been dating Kei for a little over a year now, and you’d grown surprisingly comfortable with the man. He knew every little detail about you, down to every single one of your expressions and each of their causes.

The one thing you thought he’d never find out about, or at least he wouldn’t for another year or two, was your little habit of treating the shower like your own personal concert.

So one day when he was home, you’d left the bathroom door slightly ajar, something you always do, but completely forgot about it when the shower water hit your skin.

You had the bottle of face wash in your hand, swaying to the imaginary beat as you sang with no actual effort put into making it sound good, doing every move you could think of to make it look theatrical to the nonexistent audience.

Until you noticed your lovely boyfriend sitting by the sink with a hand pressed over his mouth, which slipped off when your eyes locked with his, sputtering with withheld laughter. “They should give you a Grammy.” He managed to choke out before he began cackling, making you fling the bottle at him, which only earned you more laughter from the man.