She ties her hair back first, drinking a celery cucumber juice he'd pressed and strained and brought to her in a tall glass with a stainless steel straw. Her cleanser is cream-based, which she follows with a lathered bar soap. Works in a clay mask, over the small heart of her forehead, the point of her chin, the rise of her cheeks. A thorough wash, then another hydrating creamer.
Sits on the edge of the tub as it sets, sleepily watching him shower. Taichi knows how tired she is when he's on the fourth paragraph in the recap of his day and she's not interrupted once. When he glances over through the fogged glass, her head is bowed, the fox ear headband keeping the baby hairs from her forehead now drooping uselessly forward. Shuts off the soothing stream of water, and the audible disruption has her straight backed again, yawning. Doesn't even mumble with disapproval at the wet footprints he drags across the pristine tile of her bathroom, her pastel pink towel tucked to his waist.
"Just go to bed," he tells her.
"Help me finish." Lifts her arms, wiggling them about like a stringless doll.
He does, rolls his eyes even so. Drapes her arms around his shoulders after he pats in a bit of hyaluronic serum all over her face, her neck, the tops of her hands. Lets her suck on a drop of CBD oil he adds under her tongue, takes a sip for himself that he chases with the rest of her green juice as she smiles at him. He's dripping water all over her satin pajamas, and has yet to fuss about it—another sign.
"What?" He knows that grin.
"You know my routine."
Says it likes it's a miracle, but he really does. Even bought small sample sets to keep at his place, ignoring his sister's smirking eyes when she saw him pick up his own basket at the spa store they'd visited for a mother's day gift voucher. A quieter, more neighbor-friendly version of her juicer is currently in his online market shopping cart, and he's found himself using the kitten ear headband he'd ordered off an inflight magazine when he washes his own face now, too. Took a mirror selfie with it on once, miming his best impression of a cat. She'd answered with what felt like a hundred emojis, memes, reaction gifs. He'd teased her for the over the top response. Captioned a goofier selfie, tongue sticking out, makes himself unappealing. I look that good?
You feel even better.
Brought his tongue back into his mouth so fast he'd bruised it on his teeth. Yeah?
Or at least I think you do. Then sent him the picture he keeps in a password locked folder. Come remind me?
"It wasn't easy." He's rolling a cooled stone massager over her cheekbones, her arched brows. "You've got so many steps."
"I'm worth it."
The jury's never had to be out on that. Layers an undereye mask for her next, pressing gently with his fingertips. Hums to herself as it soaks, eyes closed, and he uses the time to finally finish drying off, put away the damp towel, put on clean cotton briefs. The snap of the elastic waistband cracks open her left eye.
"What now?" he chuckles, when Mimi pouts and peels off her eye mask.
"I might need that later."
"I don't remember that step."
She laughs, this soft bell of a sound. Gets up off the rim of the tub to join him at the counter, works a rose toner on herself first, then him. Smooths back the wet curls from his temples. "Can you imagine?"
He really could. Had been a lot lately, picturing her nightly routine going on with or without him. Not yet a year in, so living otherwise hadn't come up. That, and she'd never moved in with someone else, and not on account of not being serious enough—she'd even been engaged before. (So'd he, for that matter. They don't talk about that, though.) Yet as socially outgoing as she is, he's learned that she likes her space, her way of having things just so at the end of the night. I like to take the day off, she'd told him on a video call, getting into bed right as he'd been getting out, a fourteen hour difference. Had a spoon dug into a carton of salted caramel and butter pecan ice cream, shoveling fistfuls of buffalo hot honey popcorn with each bite. Immune by then, though not by choice, to her famously odd taste, he'd just listened, or watched, as she added, It's like I can wipe everything clean, all my mistakes and things I wished had gone differently. And then I open my eyes and it has! A brand new day, and beamed at him.
Had almost asked her then. How she knew to keep them, after all their mistakes. Makes sense, he'd said instead.
Everything I do makes sense. Licked clean the bowl of her spoon as slowly as possible, eyelids half closed in a low sigh.
Don't, he'd groaned. Long distance had never tortured him before her, the top of her shoulder peeking through the stretched collar of his old sweatshirt, her hair pulled up in a high pony that left every tiny wispy curl untouched down the column of her neck.
She'd opened her eyes wide, a sweet sticky shine to her lips. Looked at him through the video screen, pretty mouth pursed in genuine puzzlement, because she really didn't know then, the spell she already had on him. Don't make sense?
And it truly didn't. The last person he ever thought he'd be with on a Monday night, finishing up with his electric trimmer as she worked through the final trio of moisturizer oils, lotions, and mists. She reaches past him to return the last capped bottle to the counter, leaning close as she does. This is how she asks to be kissed. A cheek, or hand, or shoulder, offered up like a signet ring.
Swerves away, "Not a step."
Her mouth hangs open. "It could be!"
"It couldn't," and laughs so she knows he's just teasing. "We add that, and I'd always have to be around."
Turns her head on a tilt, fox ears lopsided now. "You are always around." She says this like it's a law of physics, something so natural and irrefutable, he should have already known it.
"Until the end of the day," and tweaks her nose as he walks by her. "When I'm wiped clean with all the rest."
Follows him, turning the bathroom light off. "I couldn't."
"Oh?" He's playing along, and to be honest not really listening all that closely. He's tired, too, and there's still a couple of emails he needs to respond to, items to check off for the day waiting ahead. Usually ends up catching on work in the wee hours, nose pressed close to his phone to keep the screen dim and out of her sight, whenever he spends the night here. "Got under your skin already?"
"Always." Pushes him to sit on the edge of the mattress, climbing over his lap. Holds his freshly shaven face in her soft hands. "I want you always there."
"Here?" And they both know what he's really asking. He's terrible at this, putting feelings into words. He kisses her left shoulder instead. "Or here?" The right one.
Mimi giggles, arching her neck back, "I'm not sure."
"You must mean...here?" Kisses her brow, her stretched earlobe, the reddened heel of her thumb. The crook of her elbow, the crease before her armpit, the freckles on her collarbone. "Or maybe here?" Pulls off her satin top, the pajama shorts kicked off with his own.
She's starting to shake, doubled over in laughter, the ticklish spasms making her squirm as he finds his way down the side of her hip to the hollow of her knee, the mole at the back of her calf, the wrinkled pinch of her ankle. Kicks her leg out, a reflexive instinct, so he hooks his arms around her thighs, rolls her beneath him over the duvet. Does away with the briefs while she looks on triumphantly, another argument won. Like he had much of a chance, really, with her. "Then where?"
Her face is a splotchy red now, cheeks puffed from the giggling fit. It's the sort of dewy, flushed pink that her skincare routine, all twenty odd steps, had been carefully crafted to keep under control, until he'd arrived, back in her life. Late, as usual, but here. Saw her at the end of the day, wearing every mistake, and stayed, settled underneath her skin. "Everywhere," she manages when he crawls back over her, laughing into his mouth. Breathes so deep, like she finally can at last, when he fills her. Holds herself as close as she can press them together now, clothed in him. Skin to skin. "I want you everywhere."