The energy backstage still crackled, even though the show had ended. Guitars were being packed, laughter echoed down the corridors, and your clothes clung to your body like a second skin. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand and scanned the room, eyes locking on Ringo near the drinks table.

You: (a bit breathless) “Ringo! Can you start the shower for me? You know it takes a year for that water to heat up.”

Ringo: (grinning, already on the move) “Got it, love. Should be boiling by the time you’re in.”

Just as you turned away, John’s voice cut through the noise, your boyfriend —playful, cocky, low enough just for you.

John: (smirking) “Funny… I was about to offer to warm you up myself. No plumbing necessary.”

You didn’t even have to look to feel that familiar grin of his.

You: (rolling your eyes, smiling) “Down, Lennon. This is why nobody lets you near the hot water.”

John: (chuckling) “Yeah, but they keep comin’ back.”

You shake your head and make your way to the back dressing corner. Your body’s aching for relief from the heat, every inch of you begging to be out of your damp clothes.

One by one, you peel the layers away—shirt first, sticking to your back. Then your bra, unclasped with a sigh. Your jeans slide down your legs, dragging your underwear with them. Naked, skin tingling with cool air, you grab a towel and your toiletries bag and pad barefoot down the hall.

The steam is already creeping from under the bathroom door—Ringo really had been quick. You push it open and step inside, the warmth wrapping around your skin like a breath.

The soft hiss of water fills the room. You glance around but there’s no sign of anyone.

Confident and craving that hot water, you let your towel drop to the floor.

Naked. Relaxed. Bare feet on warm tile. Your fingers curl around the edge of the curtain.

You pull it back—

And freeze.

So does Paul.

He's standing under the spray, water slicking down his body, glistening across his chest, his damp hair falling into wide, shocked eyes.

And for one second, neither of you move.

Both of you see each other. Completely. Unfiltered.

His gaze flicks down before snapping up again, and yours does the same—he’s toned, caught off guard, arms still down by his sides, lips parted like he might speak but forgot how.

Your stomach flips, heat flushing across your cheeks down to your chest.

You: (a breathless whisper) “Oh my god.”

Paul: (equally stunned) “…Bloody hell.”

And then, chaos.

You jerk back, your bare foot skidding on a puddle of water, and before you can stop it—

You slip.

Your hand flails for the edge of the sink, misses, and with a squeal, you fall forward straight into the shower.

You: “Shit—!”

You crash into Paul, your soaked, naked body colliding with his as the curtain rips halfway from the rail, wrapping awkwardly around your side. Water sprays down on both of you, your arms instinctively flying up to cover your chest.

Paul stumbles back, his hands flying to his waist as he tries to shield himself, face absolutely flaming.

Paul: (voice raised, panicking) “I-I didn’t know! Ringo said I had time! I didn’t think you’d—!”

You: (trying to sit up in the slick bottom of the tub) “I thought it was empty! He told me it was ready—I didn’t think—!”

You scramble up, slipping again, and finally grab onto the wall to steady yourself. One arm wraps around your chest, the other frantically reaching for the fallen curtain. Paul turns away as best he can, the both of you soaked and red-faced.

Your heart is hammering so hard it hurts. Steam wraps around you both like a blanket—thick, hot.

Paul: (not looking at you, voice cracking) “God, I—I didn’t mean— You alright?”

You: (quiet, breathless) “I’m fine… just mortified.”

You grab your towel and wrap it around you, hands shaking slightly. You dare one glance back at him—he’s got the curtain wrapped tight around his waist now, back turned, water still running over his shoulders.

Paul: (barely above a whisper) “You, uh… you surprised me.”

You: (muttering) “You saw me.”

Paul: (soft) “…You saw me too.”