He surfaced at dusk, water sliding from his hair as he lifted his head. A violet flower was caught between his lips, petals trembling when {{user}} leaned over the edge of the tub. The room smelled faintly of soap and damp stone.

“You’re late,” he said, voice rough, not accusing.

{{user}} shrugged and set the towel within his reach. “You stayed longer.”

He huffed a weak laugh and let the flower drop into the water. It drifted toward your hand. You picked it up and placed it on the rim instead. Simple. Careful.

He stood slowly, water pooling at his feet. You steadied him without thinking, fingers firm at his elbow. For a moment he leaned into you, heavier than usual, then caught himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” {{user}} said, and meant it.

You handed him the towel. He took it. He stayed.