The water is hot, steam filling the space immediately, fogging the mirrors and wrapping around us like a physical presence. I soap her body slowly, my hands mapping every curve and hollow since my eyes can't give me the details I want. The dip of her waist. The flare of her hips. The soft weight of her breasts. The smooth plane of her stomach.
I memorize her through touch. Store every detail away like treasure.
Then I turn her around, press her front against the cool tiles, feel her gasp at the temperature contrast.
"I've never taken someone bare," I say against the back of her neck. The admission feels significant, vulnerable in a way I don't usually allow. "I'm clean."
"I'm okay too," she says, her voice soft and trusting in a way that makes my chest tighten. "I'm on birth control."
I enter her from behind, pin her hands flat against the tiles with my own, our fingers interlacing. The position is familiar from earlier, but different now. More intimate without the barrier between us. More real.
We move together, the water running over us, steam thick in my lungs, her body accepting mine with an ease that feels like recognition. Like we've done this a thousand times before instead of just once.
We both come after a while, slower than before, less desperate but somehow more intense. Her body tightens around me, pulling my own release from somewhere deep in my spine. I bite down on her shoulder to muffle the sound that wants to escape, tasting salt and water and her.
I finish showering quickly after that, the practical needs of the day reasserting themselves. Leave her under the spray, her face tilted up toward the water, her hair plastered to her shoulders.
"I'm going to start coffee," I say.
"Are you sure you can manage?" she asks, and there's genuine concern in her voice, not mockery.
"It's just pressing a button," I tell her. "I think I can manage."
I dry off, wrap the towel around my waist, navigate to the kitchen by memory and the brightening morning light I can sense more than see. My vision is improving daily now, shapes becoming clearer, edges less blurred. Soon I'll be able to see her face properly. Soon I'll know what she looks like when she comes, what her eyes do when I touch her, how her mouth curves when she smiles.
Soon. But not yet.
I'm at the coffee machine, my hand hovering over the button, when I hear them.
Footsteps. Two sets. Familiar patterns I'd recognize anywhere.
Artan and Erion walk into the kitchen.
I sense their energy filling the space. They've been out all night. I can tell by the edge coming off them, wired and manic, the kind of tension that comes after violence and adrenaline.
"We have a present for you," Erion says, and there's satisfaction in his voice, pride threading through the words. "Something we know you've been looking for."
My pulse kicks up. I know exactly what he means.
Before I can respond, I hear different footsteps.
Lighter. Hesitant. Barefoot against tile.
Lily.
The kitchen goes completely silent.
I can feel the moment they realize. Can sense their awareness shifting, understanding what this means.
They know. They know exactly what happened last night.
The silence stretches, uncomfortable and heavy, thick with implications and questions no one is asking out loud.
I hear Lily fidget, a small sound of nervousness that makes my jaw tighten. She's uncomfortable. Self-conscious. Aware of being watched and judged.
I need to give her something. An out. A task that lets her focus on something other than their stares.
"I can't manage the coffee machine after all," I say, smooth and casual, "Can you help?"
