“You don’t exactly look like you’d survive on your own today,” he muttered, voice rough but not unkind.

She glanced at him, startled, then looked back down at the water, cheeks pink from the steam—or maybe embarrassment. “I… I can manage,” she mumbled.

He stepped closer, ignoring her protest, and grabbed the washcloth. “Sit still,” he said, tugging her hand gently to help guide it. “You’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

Her hair was damp, clinging in messy strands to her face and neck. Without thinking, he brushed them back, his fingers threading through the wet strands, smoothing the tangles with careful patience. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed, letting him take over.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the running water.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning over slightly to reach her shoulders, “but someone has to make sure you don’t end up looking like a drowned cat.”

Her lips twitched in a small smile, the first real one in hours. He helped her lean back into the tub, water warm and calming, letting her shoulders sink beneath the surface. He stayed close, scrubbing gently at her hair, untangling knots, rinsing shampoo carefully. She let out a soft, contented sigh, eyes closing.

“Thanks,” she murmured finally, voice softer than she’d intended.

“Don’t thank me,” he grunted, though his tone didn’t mask the faint satisfaction in helping her. “Just… don’t try to drown yourself again.”

For a long moment, they were silent except for the running water. The tension, the rivalry, the sharp words of the outside world—all of it melted away. In this small, steam-filled room, she was just her. Vulnerable, human. And he was just… him, unexpectedly gentle.

When she finally stood, dripping wet, he handed her a towel without a word. She wrapped it around herself, shivering, and he let her, letting her take up space without mocking, without teasing.

And for once, she didn’t have to fight him—or anyone else. She could just be.