The afternoon sun bled golden through the windows, draping the apartment in a warm hush. It was the kind of stillness that seeps into your bones, curls around your limbs with the promise of rest. The air carried a quiet weight—unbroken, expect for the faint hum of life beyond the walls.

Sae had just come home—loose hoodie slipping carelessly off one shoulder, keys tossed lazily on the table with the soft clink of metal.

Sae didn’t call out for you—not really. He didn’t have to. He knew you were here. He could feel your presence. He could hear you in the hushed shuffle of footsteps, in the faint tune you hummed under your breath, and in the way the atmosphere shifted ever so slightly when you moved.

His expression, as always, was unreadable—but the weariness clung to him in ways you couldn’t miss. It weighed on his posture, tugged at the corners of his eyes. Exhaustion settled into him like an unwanted shadow, from the slow drag of his steps to the heavy breath he released as he slipped into the bathroom.

He needed a bath.

But not just any kind—not a quick rinse, not a hurried splash of water. What he needed was a kind of soak that felt endless, that melted into his bones until the world beyond the steam didn’t matter. A bath that could strip the tension from tight muscles and overworked minds.

The rising mist filled the room, curling against the tiled walls, air thick and warm.

Sae sank into the tub with a low, barely audible sigh, the water embracing him in its heat. It lapped at his chest, carving delicate trails between the lines of toned muscles, skimming across his collarbones, turning his skin slick with beads of warmth.

Droplets clung stubbornly to his long lashes, to the crimson strands of his hair as he tilted his head back, arms draped lazily along the rim.

He closed his eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to forget. Just to breathe.

He didn’t hear the creak of the door. Didn’t notice the faint pad of footsteps over tile—at least not until your fingers slid into his damp hair, combing slow and deliberate through his strands.

“Is that you?” he murmured, voice rasped and low.

Dangerous—that was the tone of his voice. The kind that could make your knees buckle if you let it. But you weren’t here to melt.

You don’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, your fingers kept their slow, measured rhythm, raking lightly over his scalp. And when he tried to turn towards you, you tugged his hair—not painfully, but with enough firmness that made him freeze.

“I didn’t say you could move,” you whispered, your breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. “Pretty boy.”

His breath hitched—barely, but you caught it.

Your fingers slid lower, leaving the damp crown of his head, down to the slope of his neck, kneading the tense muscle there. He was already wound tight, heat from the water doing nothing to soften him beneath your touch. You leaned in again, lips so close to his ear you could feel the way he tensed.

“So quiet now, huh?” you murmured, thumb dragging slow, down to the column of this throat. “What happened to all that ego, Sae?”

The sharp flex of his jaw betrayed him—restraint and defiance caught in a silent battle. Maybe he wanted to glare, maybe he wanted to scoff, but you didn’t give him the chance to.

One hand drifted along his collarbone. The other slipping just under the water, tracing up the inside of his thigh—not quite where you knew he wanted it. Not yet.

His eyes cracked opened, lashes wet and heavy. The steam clung to his skin, highlighting every detail—expression unreadable, but never neutral.

“You’re getting hard already?” you said, your mouth curling into a soft smile—teasing him. “I didn’t even touch you properly.”

His exhale was quiet, but you caught the edge of it—half annoyance, half need. Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just sat there, skin slick and flushed, water streaming down every tense, obedient inch of him.

Exactly how you liked him.