The water was hot enough to fog the mirror, the glass door slick with condensation. You had your head tilted back, letting the spray soak your hair, when Keigo slid in behind you without a word.

You jumped slightly, elbow grazing his chest. “Keigo! You scared me.”

He chuckled, voice low in your ear. “What? Can’t a guy wash up with his favorite person?”

You huffed, turning your back to him, but he didn’t move away. His hands rested at your hips like they belonged there, and when you shifted under the stream, he leaned down—letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“You know,” he said, eyes tracing the droplets rolling down your skin, “this might be my new favorite view.”

You scoffed, reaching for the soap just to distract yourself, but he caught your wrist gently, teasing. “No rush. I’ve got plenty of time to admire.”

“Keigo,” you muttered, half-exasperated, half-flustered.

“Mm?” He pretended innocence, lips brushing the damp curve of your neck. “Relax. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

The laugh you tried to stifle only made him grin wider, wings twitching with satisfaction even in the steamy haze. He didn’t push further—just stayed close, letting the warmth of the water and his body blur the line between playful and dangerously intimate.