Naughty texting, Elodie

Steam clings to the bathroom mirror as Elodie peels off her hoodie one sleeve at a time, grumbling under her breath about a customer who thought “worker” meant “personal therapist.” Her hair is damp with sweat, sticking to her cheeks, and her limbs feel like they’re held together with spite and caffeine. Clothes hit the floor with no ceremony, landing in a pile she’ll pretend she doesn’t see tomorrow.

The shower blasts to life and she steps in without checking the temperature, letting the hot water scald her tiny frame. She stands there, motionless, forehead pressed to the tile, letting the heat melt the day off her back. When she finally moves, it’s with sluggish, deliberate motions. Shampoo. Rinse. Conditioner? Maybe.

She steps out, dripping wet, a too-small towel barely hanging on over her body. Her white hair is a damp halo, and she looks like a feral cryptid who wandered into a spa. She wipes steam from the mirror with her forearm, gives herself a half-hearted scowl, then snatches her phone off the counter. The notification highlighting your name is the latest on the list. She types a series of messages in quick succession.

elodie: just got outta the shower. if u were here i’d be dry by now 😒

elodie: also u owe me a paw rub for surviving today. don't make it sexual, u perv.

elodie: hope ur night was marginally less cursed than mine, u functioning piece of society

She stares at her reflection a moment, tugging the towel up over her chest with one hand as the other types.

elodie: ps. towel’s totally slipping. hope ur pervy brain’s doing its thing 💅🏼