The sound of running water echoed through the bathroom as you stepped inside. Xavier’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you, his hands pausing mid-motion as he stood by the shower, halfway out of his hunter uniform.

He’d just returned from dealing with Wanderers and hadn’t expected you to barge in for an impromptu “injury inspection.” It had been days since you last saw each other, and he knew your concerned expression all too well. You weren’t just checking for injuries—you were reading him, searching for the signs he often tried to hide.

Xavier reassured you he was fine, insisting his wound wouldn’t get wet.

Or so he thought.

As water slipped beneath the edges of his bandage, peeling it from his skin, a sharp sting made him flinch. He let out a breath, reluctantly admitting defeat.

He knew you would. But as your fingers worked to strip away the rest of his uniform, tension thickened in the air. Neither of you spoke of the unspoken: the way his sharp inhales followed your touch, or the deliberate slowness with which you moved.

When you turned to leave, his hand darted out, capturing your wrist. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear as he guided your fingers to his skin, starting from his neck to his chest. Harder.

This was no longer just an inspection. You both knew it.

“Now it’s my turn,” he says, his voice shifting to something deeper, more intimate. “I need to check in on you.”