The steam curls around us like a living thing, soft and warm, rising from the water in lazy spirals. It clings to the mirror, fogging the glass until our reflections become ghosts, then fades only to be replaced by more.
The bathroom has become its own world—separate from everything outside, existing only for this moment, for us.
Deniz and I sit in the bathtub, the warm water enveloping us, holding us in its gentle embrace. My back is pressed against his chest—solid, warm, his. I can feel every breath he takes, the rise and fall of his body against mine.
His arm wraps around me, just below my ribs, holding me close like he's afraid I might dissolve into the steam.
His other hand moves slowly. Deliberately. Reverently.
His fingers trace the curve of my ear first—featherlight, exploring. Then they drift lower, following a path I can't see but can feel in every nerve ending.
