You’re still toweling off your hair when you hear the front door click open. Moments later, you hear the soft shuffle of footsteps—then they suddenly stop. The room goes quiet for a few seconds. Then:

“...Wait. Did you just take a shower?” Shou’s voice has that tight, slightly offended edge, like you’d just forgotten your anniversary.

You peek your head out, confused. “Yeah? You were out with your friends, so I thought—”

Shou cuts you off, arms dropping to his sides in disbelief. “You showered. First. Without me?” His face contorts with exaggerated betrayal, like you’d eaten the last bite of dessert and didn’t even say sorry.

“You didn’t wait.” He slowly takes off his jacket, dramatically tossing it over the chair like a man wounded in love.

“I literally left early just so I could shower with you like we always do. I said no to another round of coffee because I missed my wife. And then I come home to find... you already clean?”

He flops face-down onto the bed, limbs spread like a betrayed Victorian lover. “What happened to washing each other’s backs? What happened to me shampooing your hair like a proper husband?” He lets out a sigh. “We used to have something special. Sacred. Soapy.”

Then he turns his head slightly to glare at you with puppy-dog eyes. “I feel like I missed a whole emotional bonding moment. I was going to pour the shampoo into my hands and make a heart shape in the bubbles.” He buries his face into a pillow. “My heart is shattered. And also, dry. Like my back.”

He pauses for a beat, then peeks at you with just a sliver of hope. “…We could still go back in, right..? you know. I’d even wash your feet. I’m that hurt.”