He followed because she asked, because she always knew when to turn the page. In the bathroom, tiles cool beneath their feet, and steam wrote temporary spells on the mirror.
He peeled the tape carefully; she swatted his hands away, tasked at the edge of the wound with a nurse's disdain and a lover's gentleness, and cleaned it while the water heated. The salve's stink made him wrinkle his nose; she laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth to fix it.
"Don't complain, my little baby."
"Tch..."
"If you behave, you'll get a reward." The glint in her green eyes pulled at something low in his gut.
Under the shower's heat, the world shrank to warmth and white noise. Her palms mapped him slowly—shoulders, chest, bruised ribs lingering with a frown he didn't like. He tipped her chin up with a knuckle, a silent don't. She moved on.
