the shower

Tom moved down the hallway on instinct, his steps light, his weight balanced on the outer edges of his feet to avoid the faint creak in the floorboards — the exact path that his other life in this body had already mapped out for him.

The bathroom door was shut, but not completely — the latch rarely caught unless you pushed it hard. That tiny imperfection in the house had always been there, but now it was paired with a flood of memory: quiet breaths, the faint warmth of steam, the sound of water hitting tile.

A faint rustle came from inside — clothing peeled away, soft denim sliding down legs. He could picture it without even trying, the image forming with the ease of long habit. The scent of her perfume lingered in the hallway, but now it mingled with something warmer, more intimate: the faint trace of her skin after a long day.

Tom’s breath caught as the shower curtain scraped faintly against its rings. The rush of water began, filling the room with white noise, and in that moment his heart was hammering so loud he thought it might betray him.

He eased forward, the gap in the door widening by just enough to give him a sliver of view.

Through the steam, Sarah’s outline was perfect — one arm lifted to gather her hair, her back arched slightly as she turned under the spray. He caught the curve of her hip, the way droplets clung and rolled down her side. Every small movement was magnified, hypnotic, like watching a secret ritual meant for no one else.

Some part of him screamed stop, but the boy’s memories buried in his brain overrode it. This was familiar. Comfortable. Addictive. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this in this reality, and the pull to keep looking felt almost impossible to resist.

The shame and arousal tangled together until they were indistinguishable, his breath coming shallow as he tried to keep completely silent.

Inside, Sarah hummed faintly to herself, oblivious, turning so that for a fleeting moment the curtain shifted and he saw more — the soft line of her stomach, the fullness of her breasts, water tracking between them before disappearing out of sight.

Tom’s grip tightened on the doorframe. His whole body ached with the knowledge that this wasn’t the woman he’d married, not here — and yet, it was. And she was inches away, close enough to touch if he just stepped inside.