||•The Fortunate•||

\\.7NEW ROUTINES AND SOFT DISCOVERIES ✨\\

I took a step forward. Not rushed. Just enough.

"You're dripping all over my floor," I said, my tone smooth but edged with something darker. "Either come in... or go finish what you started."

Her lips parted slightly. She looked down, maybe at her foot, maybe at nothing. Then back up at me.

"I couldn't reach the towel rack," she murmured, and I noticed the way her fingers gripped the crutch just a little tighter.

That made me pause—not because she needed help, but because she tried not to ask for it. Pride. Restraint. She didn't want to seem weak in front of me.

I walked over—slow, deliberate—and stopped just in front of her. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off my chest. I didn't touch her. Not yet.

"Next time," I said, voice low, "just call me."

Her eyes flicked up to mine again—curious now. Not afraid. Not shy. Just... wondering who exactly she was standing in front of.

I reached out, took the damp towel from around her shoulders, and replaced it with a dry one from the drawer nearby. My hands brushed her skin just once. Intentional. Light. Enough to let her feel it.

"Sit," I told her, gesturing to the bench near the foot of my bed.

She hesitated. Then obeyed.

I watched her carefully, not saying another word. There was something about her posture—poised, but not practised. She wasn't used to being cared for. Not like this. Not by someone like me.

"You always walk into men's bedrooms dripping wet," I asked, not smiling, but there was amusement in my tone.

She gave the faintest smirk. "No"

She didn't say anything else.

Just sat there, towel clutched in her lap, eyes tracing the floor like it held answers she didn't want to speak out loud. But I wasn't fooled. I could feel her watching me.

Every time I moved—even slightly—her eyes followed. From the flex of my arms as I grabbed another towel, to the way the water still clung to my chest and rolled slowly down my abdomen. She wasn't saying much, but her silence was loud. Focused.

I stepped back into the light, running a hand through my wet hair to shake out what was left of the steam. Her gaze flicked up again, this time more deliberately. Her eyes locked onto my torso—slowly dragging over every inch, like her mind was trying to memorise the way my muscles shifted when I moved.

I saw it.

And I let her look.

Didn't tense. Didn't hide. Just stood there, unapologetically bare—dark chocolate skin still glistening from the shower, defined lines casting shadows under the overhead light. Her stare was almost reverent, like I wasn't just a man standing in front of her—but something sculpted. Something unexpected.

And that's when I knew.

She didn't just come in here for a towel.

I tilted my head slightly, the corners of my mouth pulling into the faintest smirk.

"You always this quiet," I asked, voice low and deliberate, "or am I just that distracting?"

Her eyes snapped up to mine. For a second, she looked like she might pretend she hadn't been staring. But there it was again—that subtle shift in her expression—that flicker of pride she didn't want to give up.

"Maybe both," she murmured.

I didn't respond.

Just looked at her for a moment longer—looked.