The showers hummed with life already, streams cascading in a welcoming haze as they rounded the corner from the gym, breaths still ragged from the sparring mat, sweat tracing zy paths down their heated skin before chilling in the open air. The tiled sanctuary ahead shimmered with warmth, steam rising like a lover's sigh from the forgotten valves left open earlier that evening.

  Neither paused to wonder at the serendipity.

  They entered side by side.

  Vapor swirled upward from the damp stone, coiling in gentle tendrils, while the gym's stark gre softened into golden hues that danced across slick tiles and gleaming fixtures. The steady patter of water against walls and floor enveloped them, a rhythmic hush that sealed the world away.

  For a breath, they stood still.

  Then Marisol's fingers grasped the edge of her damp training shirt, peeling it upward in a fluid motion, fabric whispering against her skin before nding on the bench with casual abandon. The supportive wrap beneath came next, freeing the subtle curve of her breasts, still flushed from exertion. Shorts slid down toned thighs, kicked aside without a gnce, her form revealed in unapologetic grace.

  Liora's gaze lingered for a heartbeat, absorbing the sight, before her own hands mirrored the act.

  Her fingertips trembled faintly at her waistband, the thrill of adrenaline lingering in her veins like a lingering caress. Clothes pooled beside Marisol's, and the room's humid air kissed her bare skin, a fleeting coolness that beckoned her toward the enveloping heat.

  Marisol cimed her pce beneath a torrent.

  No words needed, no flourish—just the natural pull.

  The water cascaded over her, darkening the thick braid that clung to her neck, rivulets tracing the elegant arch of her spine, glistening along the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips.

  Liora hesitated only an instant before joining under the adjacent flow.

  The scalding rush enveloped her neck and shoulders, melting away the weight of strain, coaxing knotted muscles to unfurl beneath its insistent pressure. She released a sharp breath, her body yielding as the warmth seeped deeper, awakening a subtle shiver of relief.

  Silence held between them for a time.

  The water spoke instead.

  Liora pressed her forearms to the cool tile, allowing the spray to trail down her nape and along the graceful line of her back, easing the wild pulse in her chest to a gentler cadence.

  Not vanished.

  Merely subdued.

  Marisol remained close, a presence that bridged the gap without intrusion, her skin aglow in the misty light.

  “You run hot when you’re upset,” Marisol observed.

  “I wasn’t upset.”

  Marisol extended her arm, adjusting the tap to temper the heat with a cooler edge.

  “You were breathing like you’d been sprinting for miles.”

  Liora shut her eyes.

  “I just… didn’t expect it.”

  “No,” Marisol murmured softly. “You expected the door to open for you.”

  Liora swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  The steam wove through the air, softening sharp lines into a dreamlike veil, where the memory of that closing door lost its bite, settling instead as a dull ache.

  “I almost knocked anyway,” Liora confessed in a low voice.

  “But you didn’t.”

  “…No.”

  “Why?”

  Liora’s brow furrowed slightly.

  “I don’t know.”

  Marisol retrieved the soap from its perch, pressing it into Liora’s palm with a warmth that lingered.

  “Because you didn’t want to be someone she comforted,” she said. “You wanted to be someone she chose.”

  Liora fell silent.

  She thered the bar between her hands, suds blooming along her fingers, only to dissolve under the relentless stream.

  “I don’t even know what we are,” she admitted at st.

  Marisol nodded.

  “Exactly.”

  She let the insight hang, unspoken, and instead captured Liora’s wrist with tender fingers, turning her palm upward into the flow.

  “You clench here when you’re holding something in.”

  Her thumb circled lightly into the soft center, a touch that grounded without demand, sending a subtle warmth radiating through Liora’s arm.

  “Breathe.”

  Liora complied, though with reluctance.

  The knot eased just a touch.

  “Again.”

  This breath came slower, deeper.

  The enveloping heat shifted from oppressive to soothing, a steady embrace.

  “You fight everything,” Marisol whispered. “Every feeling becomes a problem to solve or an opponent to beat.”

  Liora let out a soft huff.

  “That’s how I survive here.”

  Marisol shook her head gently.

  “No. That’s how you stay alone.”

  The words nded not as rebuke, but as quiet truth, sinking in like the water that traced their forms.

  Liquid coursed over their joined hands, slipping along wrists to vanish into the drain below. Liora traced its path, her heartbeat syncing with the droplets' fall.

  “What am I supposed to do instead?” she asked.

  Marisol withdrew her hand but stayed near, her presence a comforting warmth.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “you just stay.”

  She reclined against the tile, water gliding down the smooth pnes of her back, highlighting the subtle py of muscle beneath her skin.

  “You don’t win. You don’t lose. You let the moment happen and see what it asks of you.”

  Liora mirrored her, leaning back, her breaths even now.

  “…I don’t like not knowing.”

  Marisol’s tone grew even gentler.

  “Neither do I. But not knowing is where trust begins.”

  The steam meandered zily, diffusing the room's edges.

  The frantic urge that had propelled Liora through the halls had melted away in the water's persistent rhythm.

  A peculiar realization dawned.

  The compulsion to return and knock had faded—not from indifference, but from the unraveling of that inner coil.

  She turned her head toward Marisol.

  “Thank you,” she said, the gratitude raw yet earnest.

  Marisol dipped her chin in acknowledgment.

  “Next time,” she replied, “you’ll go to her without running first.”

  Liora exhaled deeply.

  “…Next time.”

  The water continued its descent.

  And for once, they lingered in its embrace, unhurried.