The door was slightly ajar, a jagged line of light cutting through the oppressive blue of the bedroom.
A thick, heavy finger of steam escaped the crack, curling into the air like a silent invite from a system that had finally decided to stop throwing monsters at us for five minutes.
I stood there, the damp denim of my jeans pooled at my ankles, feeling the aggressive humidity hit my chilled skin. The thermal contrast was immediate. I leaned my weight against the doorframe, my vision tunneling from the lead shroud fatigue.
It's so hot here. I'm dying holy shit.
"Love, may I join now?" I asked.
My voice was a hollow rasp, a data stream running at one percent power.
"Sure."
The response was immediate but faint.
Velvet sounded too exhausted to even maintain the starlet melody.
It was flat. As if unprocessed.
The sound of a hardware thermal shutdown after a 48-hour marathon.
I stepped into the bathroom and stopped.
