The steady scrape of the razor filled the quiet bathroom, a rhythmic sound against the hum of the city outside. Steam still clung to the mirror, softening the sharp edges of Bruce’s shirtless reflection as he dragged the blade down his jaw with practiced ease.

The door creaked open behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was you.

Barefoot steps against the tile, the faint rustle of fabric as you moved closer. He caught your reflection in the mirror just as you leaned against the doorframe behind him, watching.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, as he rinsed the razor, voice calm, smooth—

“You’re staring.”