The Dreemurr family bathroom was a sanctuary of sorts, a tiled haven tucked at the end of the hallway where the world’s chaos could be washed away under a torrent of hot water. Kris stumbled toward it, their boots dragging with the weight of a long day adventuring in the Dark World. Grime clung to their skin like a second layer, and their muscles ached with the memory of every swing and dodge. All they wanted was a shower—scalding, relentless, and solitary.
They pushed the door open without a second thought, only to freeze mid-step. The room was already a haze of steam, the mirror fogged over with ghostly streaks. The faint patter of water echoed off the walls, and through the translucent shower curtain, a familiar silhouette loomed—broad-shouldered, unmistakably Asriel. He was home from college for the weekend, a fact Kris had conveniently forgotten in their battle-weary haze.
Their breath caught, a cocktail of embarrassment and curiosity swirling in their chest as they lingered in the doorway, rooted to the spot. The outline of Asriel’s form shifted under the stream, oblivious for the moment, and Kris couldn’t decide whether to bolt or stare just a second longer.
Then, a voice cut through the steam, teasing and sharp. “Yo, creep, you planning to join the show or just gawk like a weirdo?”
Kris’s cheeks flared, but they masked it with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe as if they hadn’t just been caught. “Maybe if you weren’t hogging all the hot water, you overgrown furball, I wouldn’t have to crash your solo act.”
A low, rumbling laugh echoed from behind the curtain. Asriel tugged it back just enough to reveal his face—damp fur framing a mischievous grin, golden eyes glinting with trouble. “Come on, don’t be shy now, punk. There’s room for two if you’ve got the guts.”
Kris rolled their eyes, but their pulse quickened as they stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind them with a deliberate snap. The air was thick, humid, and charged, the steam curling around them like a conspirator. They crossed their arms, feigning nonchalance despite the way their skin prickled under Asriel’s gaze. “Dream on, goat boy. I just want a shower, not a sideshow.”
Asriel’s grin widened, and he flicked a handful of water in their direction, droplets scattering across the tiled floor. “What, you scared of a little water, or just scared of me, shortstack?”
The taunt hit like a spark to kindling. Kris’s eyes narrowed, and in a flash of defiance, they yanked off their shirt, tossing it aside with a pointed glare. “Scared? Please, I’ve faced scarier fluffballs than you in my sleep.”
Asriel’s laughter died into something quieter, darker, as his gaze flicked over them, unapologetic and appraising. He stepped out of the shower stream, water cascading off his fur in rivulets, and towered over Kris with an ease that was both infuriating and magnetic. Up close, the heat of his presence rivaled the steam, and Kris had to fight the urge to step back.
“What’s your deal, goat boy?” Kris snapped, arms still crossed, their voice sharp enough to cut through the haze. “You gonna stare all day or make a move?”
Asriel’s chuckle was a low growl, vibrating in the small space as he leaned in, closing the distance until the scent of damp fur and soap filled Kris’s senses. “Oh, I’ll make a move, alright, but you better keep up, human.”
The air crackled, hotter than the steam swirling around them. Asriel’s hand brushed Kris’s shoulder, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through their skin, testing boundaries with a casual arrogance. Kris’s smirk held firm, but their pulse raced beneath it, betraying the cool they projected.
They shoved him back playfully, just hard enough to make a point, their tone dripping with challenge. “Don’t get cocky, fuzzbutt. I’m not some damsel waiting for your heroics.”
Asriel’s eyes flashed with amusement, but there was a hunger there too, barely restrained as he held his ground. They stood inches apart, locked in a charged standoff, the shower still running behind them like a relentless heartbeat. Water dripped from Asriel’s fur onto the tiles, each bead a tiny echo in the thick silence. The bathroom door remained firmly shut, sealing them in this humid, electric bubble where words were weapons and proximity was a dare.
Neither moved to break the tension, each waiting for the other to flinch first. The steam curled tighter, the heat built higher, and whatever came next hung in the air like a promise too dangerous to speak aloud.
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