But before he could fully enjoy the cheque once more...
He realized... he was... sweating.
A lot.
Like, a lot a lot. Even when the sad, rattling air conditioner in his window was on full blast, cranked all the way to "Arctic Winter," he was still sweating. He was just... leaking.
All those drinks he'd had...
All those... special exercises... with Lily...
And then the long, long walk home...
It all added up. He was filthy. He was hot. His clothes were all sticky and stuck to his skin, and the idea of trying to sleep like this, with his dress shirt and his grimy pants on... it was just... disgusting.
A little voice popped into his head.
[Ermm... boss? Not to be rude... but... a bath would be really, really great. For you. And... and for your mental health. You... you smell, boss.]
'Ah! DAMMIT!'
He finally gave in. He had to. He couldn't enjoy his two-million-crown-sleep if he felt like a walking garbage-dump.
