Bailey & Dan

Dan Savage was the kind of man who disappeared in plain sight—his face a blur in group photos, his name a half-remembered afterthought at parties. Below average height, medium build, hair neither dark nor light but some indefinable red shade between, he carried himself with the quiet resignation of someone who knew he’d never be the protagonist of his own story. Even his voice had a habit of dissolving into background noise.

Marc was Bailey’s boyfriend—handsome in that conventional way. He spoke loudly, laughed louder, and had opinions on everything from craft beer to Bitcoin. His presence demanded attention, and Bailey, his golden-haired girlfriend, was expected to orbit him like some servant.

That evening, she’d had enough.

The porcelain of the tub was hot against Bailey’s skin as she sank into the water, her blonde hair fanning out behind her like liquid gold. Steam curled around her bare shoulders, the scent of jasmine in the humid air. She exhaled, letting her head tip back against the edge, eyes closed—trying to drown out the echoes of Marc’s latest lecture. You shouldn’t wear that skirt. Don’t talk to Dan again. Why the fuck are you laughing so loud?

Dan didn’t even knock.

The front door clicked shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the empty apartment. He’d timed it perfectly—Jess was visiting her parents, Bailey was supposed to be out with Marc. The silence was welcoming. His shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks.

Towels. Right. Jess had texted him twice about folding the laundry before she got back, and he’d ignored both. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, fingers brushing against his phone—still silent. No Jess, no Bailey, no Marc. Just him.

The bathroom door was ajar, Dan didn’t notice—too focused on the pile of towels Jess had left in a heap on the dresser.

Fuck.He grabbed them, arms full of fabric that smelled like lavender detergent—Jess’s favorite. He nudged the bathroom door wider with his hip, not bothering to look up as he stepped inside.

The air hit him first—thick, wet, fragrant. Then the sound. Water sloshing gently. A sigh.

Dan froze, arms still full of towels.

Fuck, he thought.

Bailey’s eyes opened, lips curling into a smirk as she took in the sight of him—arms full of laundry, face filled with shock. Water droplets sliding down between her breasts, and she made no move to cover herself. "Well," she drawled, stretching her legs out under the soapy water. "This is a surprise."