[ she's astounded it doesn't take longer for the water to heat up. peeled out of her clothes, Jess ducks into the spray and yanks the curtain shut. once her hair is damp to the roots, she tips her head back and lets the water beat against her face. the shower head's pressure is softer than hers at home; more forgiving by any degree. she could linger there if not for how fast she tires from standing.
Jess finds his soap and lathers it in her hands, scrubbing her palms over her skin and scalp. while she's rinsing bubbles from the small of her back, where she's collected the ends of her hair, the plunk of of guitar string filters through the drip drops of water; then the plinks, until a recognizable melody arranges itself through the wall and in her head.
almost done with the shower, she pauses and puts her shoulder to the tile wall, followed by her temple, and listens to the watery, broken song she ends up with. like this, it's bearable to hear him play, and he can't be too bad because he hasn't missed a note, as far as she can tell, but she's an idiot about these things, and proud of it too. whenever she last heard the song, and she must have, it might have been a happier time. as a kid. Jess stops trying to remember and listens to the present, hoping to etch it in her mind so firmly that absinthe won't erode it.
to stay in there too long would be telling or, worse, concerning, so Jess shuts off the water and towels off well before he can finish the tune. soaking the water from her hair and then tucking the damply splotched towel around her chest, she piles her clothes into her arms and pulls the door open. she can grab her boots later, after he's showered, or later, the nebulous version. Jess steps barefoot into the main room with a seemingly offhand comment locked and loaded ]
are you ready to take this to turbo cute because it's boyfriend shirt time
Jess finds his soap and lathers it in her hands, scrubbing her palms over her skin and scalp. while she's rinsing bubbles from the small of her back, where she's collected the ends of her hair, the plunk of of guitar string filters through the drip drops of water; then the plinks, until a recognizable melody arranges itself through the wall and in her head.
almost done with the shower, she pauses and puts her shoulder to the tile wall, followed by her temple, and listens to the watery, broken song she ends up with. like this, it's bearable to hear him play, and he can't be too bad because he hasn't missed a note, as far as she can tell, but she's an idiot about these things, and proud of it too. whenever she last heard the song, and she must have, it might have been a happier time. as a kid. Jess stops trying to remember and listens to the present, hoping to etch it in her mind so firmly that absinthe won't erode it.
to stay in there too long would be telling or, worse, concerning, so Jess shuts off the water and towels off well before he can finish the tune. soaking the water from her hair and then tucking the damply splotched towel around her chest, she piles her clothes into her arms and pulls the door open. she can grab her boots later, after he's showered, or later, the nebulous version. Jess steps barefoot into the main room with a seemingly offhand comment locked and loaded ]
All yours, Jack Johnson.