The room was dimly lit, the glow from the bedside lamp casting soft, warm light over the both of you. The intimacy of the moment lingered, and you lay on your back, trying to steady your breathing, a faint flush still painting your cheeks. Drew was beside you, propped up on one elbow, his gaze soft and tender.

"Be right back," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face before slipping out of bed. You frowned slightly, wondering if he'd already moved on from the intimacy you'd just shared, but you said nothing. You heard the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom and shuffled awkwardly under the sheets, your heart beginning to race with self-conscious thoughts.

When Drew returned, he was holding a warm washcloth and a glass of water. His brows furrowed slightly when he noticed you fidgeting. "Hey," he said gently, climbing back into bed and settling beside you. "Relax, okay? I'm here."

You blinked at him as he handed you the water. "Drink," he said softly. "You need to stay hydrated." Still a little unsure of what was happening, you obediently took a sip, your fingers brushing his as you took the glass.

He leaned closer, his touch featherlight as he wiped your skin with the warm cloth, his movements slow and careful. Your breath hitched as the realization dawned: he was taking care of you. No one had ever done this for you before. Not like this. Not with such tenderness.

"Drew..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with concern. "What is it, baby? Did I hurt you? Was it too much?"

"No, not at all," you said quickly, shaking your head. "I just... no one's ever done this for me before."

His expression softened even more, if that were possible. "No one's ever done aftercare for you?" he asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and sadness.

You shrugged, your cheeks burning. "I guess... no."

Drew set the washcloth aside and cupped your face gently with both hands. "Well, they should have," he said, his voice firm but still full of affection