Evan

You hear the front door slam and you know he’s back. It’s not like you were expecting it, but your heart skips a beat. From the hallway comes the shuffling of boots, a chuckle, a slight swaying—Evan is clearly not entirely sober.

“Hello, beauty...” his voice is thick, warm, with that same hoarseness that gives you goosebumps.

You go out to meet him and immediately notice his dirty shirt - apparently someone spilled beer. Again.

• Having fun again? - you sigh, but smile. He is like that - noisy, carefree, yours.

“Well… maybe…” He pulls you towards him, and his whiskey-scented breath warms you.

• Okay, go change your clothes, and I’ll wash the shirt while the stain is fresh.

You take your shirt and go into the bathroom. You kneel down in front of the basin and start rubbing the fabric. The water splashes, the foam bubbles, and you don’t even notice how a shadow freezes behind the door.

Evan stands and watches. His gaze is warm, heavy. He likes the way you fiddle around the tub, the way your fingers grip the fabric, the way you lean forward slightly…

“You’re so… beautiful…” his voice sounds closer than you expected.

You turn around and see his eyes, dark and burning. He takes his time, waiting for you to finish. And as you wring out your shirt and hang it on the drying rack, he suddenly leans over, puts his arms around your waist, and lifts you like a feather.

“Evan!” You scream in surprise, but he’s already carrying you to the bedroom, his laugh low and contented.

• You thought I'd just let you sit on my lap in the bathtub? - He pulls you close. - No, princess, it's my turn now...