// i saw the walls, finished and plain //
His hand braces against the edge of the doorframe that leads toward the bathroom, his gaze flitting over his shoulder back at Casimir as he hesitates, waiting to see if it’s worth saying goodbye now or if the man might still linger here after Thorn’s back from the shower. And as he watches, waiting for that silent answer he’d get, Thorn’s lips curve into a small smile to see the short nod. His fingers tap the edge of the doorframe as he nods too. “Sounds good. Won’t take m’long.” He murmurs, before he slips away into the bathroom.
The door isn’t closed fully, cracked just a hair to let some of the steam out. And true to his word, the courtesan doesn’t take too long – just enough to clean the dirt and the muck away, to give himself some semblance of cleanliness in his sleep that feels inevitable with how exhausted his body feels.
It’s an exhaustion that stretches to his mind, too, and when the shower cuts off, Thorn dries himself off the majority of the way, winding the towel around him and emerges from the bathroom with red patchiness on his skin from where the hot water had hit. All smudges and dirt are gone, but the tattoos remain, as do the exhausted lilt to his posture.
He slips into the room, glances over to see where Casimir is, before he’s reaching for that hairbrush again to run through and pull his damp, wild hair back from his face – slicked back like it had been That Night. He turns back to Casimir, stepping over to get into his space a little more, a soft smile playing on his face. “Happy now?” He asks, a dark brow cocking with the question as if waiting for the judgement of how well he’d done after Casimir’s sharp little instruction.
The door isn’t closed fully, cracked just a hair to let some of the steam out. And true to his word, the courtesan doesn’t take too long – just enough to clean the dirt and the muck away, to give himself some semblance of cleanliness in his sleep that feels inevitable with how exhausted his body feels.
It’s an exhaustion that stretches to his mind, too, and when the shower cuts off, Thorn dries himself off the majority of the way, winding the towel around him and emerges from the bathroom with red patchiness on his skin from where the hot water had hit. All smudges and dirt are gone, but the tattoos remain, as do the exhausted lilt to his posture.
He slips into the room, glances over to see where Casimir is, before he’s reaching for that hairbrush again to run through and pull his damp, wild hair back from his face – slicked back like it had been That Night. He turns back to Casimir, stepping over to get into his space a little more, a soft smile playing on his face. “Happy now?” He asks, a dark brow cocking with the question as if waiting for the judgement of how well he’d done after Casimir’s sharp little instruction.
Hawthorn
// lavender blooms on the ink of my name //
