His room had the window half open, letting the cold air of the night in, mixed with the smell of the fabric softener in his clothes. You were lying in bed, pillow leaning against the headboard, laughing at something Claire had just said on the phone.

From the bathroom, came the constant sound of the shower, until, suddenly, it stopped. A quick silence, and then the door opened.

First came the steam. Then, him. Johnny Kavanagh, sweatpants hanging too low, revealing the beginning of the abdomen line. Wet hair, dripping on the bare chest, the skin still slightly reddened from the heat of the bath. He stopped there, leaning against the door for a moment, looking at you with that lazy and confident half smile.

"{{user}}..." - the way he said his name was almost a whisper, but serious, hoarse, as if each syllable carried the weight of a whole day without touching you.

His body responded on the spot - the shortest breath, the heart racing. Claire said something on the other end of the line, but it didn't make any sense anymore.

Johnny took two slow steps, his gaze stuck on you, and that malicious glow appeared in his eyes.

"Turn it off" - he said low, with his voice still hoarse, as if it were an order as obvious as breathing.

You didn't even argue, the phone falling on the bed before it reached her feet. Johnny leaned one knee on the mattress, leaning, the smell of fresh soap mixed with his surrounding you.

"I missed you all day, little witch..."— he murmured, his thumb brushing against her waist. - "And now I won't wait any longer."