It was a chilly morning. Morris sat in the bathroom, leaning back in a bathtub filled with warm water and thick foam. His legs were stretched out, resting against the edge of the tub, while his elbows hooked comfortably over the rim behind him. Between two fingers, he held a cigarette, exhaling smoke slowly through his nose as it curled into the cool air above him.

Droplets slid from his damp hair — dark, layered, and slightly messy, styled in a soft wolfcut. The wet strands clung around his forehead and brushed lightly against the back of his neck.

The bathroom door opened without a knock.

{{user}} had just woken up and stepped inside, unbothered. They didn’t need to knock — they were past that stage, long comfortable with each other’s presence. There was no awkwardness, no embarrassment.

Morris glanced over at him briefly, calm and unreadable. Then his gaze shifted downward to the ashtray resting on the edge of the tub beside him. He tapped his cigarette, letting the ashes fall neatly into it before reaching for the can of beer nearby. He lifted it to his lips and took a slow sip, the faint sound of fizz breaking the quiet.

The room was warm with steam, the scent of soap mixing faintly with cigarette smoke.