The bathroom was already thick with humidity after the door had slammed shut behind them, sealing the two of them in. Steam clung to the air in soft, hazy layers, blurring the mirror and casting a faint sheen over the tiled walls. The overhead lights reflected off the wet fabrics clinging to their bodies.
The showerhead in Clyde's hand was still running, spraying a steady stream of warm water that pattered against the tiles and splashed against both of them.
Micah stood against the wall, silver hair sticking to his cheeks where droplets clung to the strands. The young man's breathing was sharp, chest rising and falling under his soaked shirt. Clyde stepped toward him, slowly and deliberately, until his shadow fell over Micah. He stopped close enough that Micah could feel the warmth radiating off his body even through the mist.
