The shower hisses to life, filling the narrow, tiled room with a warm, curling fog. The first shock of heat hits your skin, making you sigh. You close your eyes—until the door clicks shut behind you.

“You’re going to flood the whole floor,” Henry’s voice says, smooth and amused.

You turn, water streaming down your shoulders. “It’s called bathing, Henry. You should try it sometime.”

He steps in without hesitation, already unbuttoning his shirt. The steam blurs him at the edges, but not enough to hide the sharp lines of his face. When the water catches his hair, it darkens to gold-bronze, droplets tracing his jaw like punctuation marks.

“I came to remind you you’ve mistranslated Ovid again,” he says, bracing one hand against the tile beside your head. “But perhaps that can wait.”

Your laugh is soft, quick. “You’re insufferable.”

“True.” His mouth is just a breath away from yours now. “But you love me for it.”