Steam lingered on the tiled walls, weaving pale veils through the dim overhead lights. Thin rivulets of water traced paths along the grout lines, gathering in shallow pools near the drains, while the air hung heavy and warm, slowing each breath to a deliberate rhythm.

  Marisol had reduced the shower to a gentle trickle rather than shutting it off entirely. The steady patter filled the space, creating a hypnotic backdrop that softened the edges of the room.

  Liora remained where she was, near the bench with her arms folded across her chest, though her stance held no ease. Instead, it conveyed a deliberate containment, far too rigid for her usual self. The earlier night's energy—the raw fight, the shared ughter, the pyful teasing—had all dissipated, leaving behind a coiled tension she couldn't fully release.

  Marisol sensed it well before any words emerged.

  "You're quiet," she observed gently.

  Silence followed.

  Liora's gaze fixed on the cascading water rather than on her companion, her jaw clenching once, then tightening again in quick succession.

  "I thought the storm liked the rain."

  Liora shook her head slowly. "Not tonight."

  Marisol chose not to probe further. She reached for a nearby towel, intending to step away from the spray.

  But in that instant, Liora seized her wrist—not with force or precision, but with an unhesitating immediacy.

  Marisol turned back just as Liora drew her nearer and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

  This wasn't the polished assurance of experience, nor the lighthearted tease they sometimes shared.

  It carried an urgency, raw and unfiltered.

  Liora anchored her there, one hand steady on her shoulder, the other firm at her waist, as if seeking stability in the contact. The kiss lingered briefly yet held a clear purpose—a choice seized in the heat of the moment, executed without room for second thoughts.

  When she drew back, her breathing came in uneven measures.

  "I want you .....now."

  The words emerged low, edged with a hint of frustration.

  Marisol searched her face, focusing on the eyes rather than the form before her.

  Liora swallowed, her gaze darting aside for a fleeting moment before locking back in pce. The familiar bravado surfaced, though it felt more fragile than before.

  "I just… I need my head to stop for a while," she confessed. "I don’t want to think about what I saw. I don’t want to analyze this house or what it means or what it’s doing to me."

  Her hold eased slightly, yet she didn't let go.

  "Let me take you back to my room this time."

  The plea carried deeper weight than she might have intended, for Liora rarely sought direction or instruction; she was ciming a territory of her own, a space where she could dictate the terms.

  Marisol's expression shifted—not to amusement or hunger, but to a quiet comprehension.

  "You're not asking for me," she murmured softly.

  Liora furrowed her brow. "I literally am."

  Marisol reached up, brushing a damp lock of hair from Liora's forehead with care.

  "You're asking for quiet."

  Liora paused, considering the insight.

  "…Yeah."

  In that vulnerable instant, the facade of confidence dissolved, revealing a raw honesty beneath.

  "I just want to shut off with you for a while."

  Marisol id her hand over Liora's where it lingered at her waist—not to dislodge it or urge it onward, but simply to recognize its presence.

  "Alright," she agreed.

  No banter followed, no attempt at instruction.

  Just a straightforward acceptance.

  Liora released a long breath, deeper than any she'd drawn since stepping into the room.

  The tightness didn't fully unravel, but it loosened enough to let her shoulders descend. She gave Marisol's hand a single, appreciative squeeze, relieved at the ck of further inquiry.

  "Good," she murmured. "Because if I stayed in my own head another ten minutes, I was going to start a fight with someone who didn’t deserve it."

  Marisol offered a subtle smile. "Then let’s prevent property damage."

  They silenced the water at st, watching the steam begin to dissipate as the door swung open to the cooler air of the corridor. Liora kept their hands entwined as they moved forward.

  For once, the storm sought not pursuit, but refuge.