the faucet handle creaks in protest as it turns, the last few meager droplets sinking to the shower floor when the pipes are closing off and he’s taking a careful, staggering step past the tub’s threshold. it’s by habit that he steams the entire room, builds up a hazy wall around the mirror that he later has to wipe away to deal with the goddamn mop that is an obnoxious head of curls, but tonight he can’t will his body to cooperate, only offering the half-hearted scrub of a towel over dripping hair before he’s heading off toward the bed. he doesn’t recognize clothing as a necessity, not with the sluggish drag of his limbs, and maybe it’s the influence of his heroin-fueled stupor that nearly has him throwing his entire weight onto the mattress, putting forth an alarming lack of regard for the body already sprawled among the wrinkled sheets, comforter haphazardly kicked to the floor. he’s not sure how long he stands there, bowed over her form like he’s trying to figure out how to piece himself into this puzzle. “ rom, hey.” she’s only granting him a pathetic mew in reply, lifting a delicate hand to shrug the sheets over frail, shuddering shoulders, and mason can feel his patience leaving him almost as quickly as his lids slink shut. there’s a brief thought he spares to the couch, so warm and inviting just a room away, but it’s his body that makes the decision for him, scooping her carefully into the crook of his arms and scooting with some grace he’s never had onto the mattress. her nails are hooking into him, thigh sliding between the cool, damp touch of his own. her nose finds its way into the junction of his neck and shoulder like it belongs there, pink, sleep-slack lips whispering hushed, incoherent mumbles against his skin. “yeah, yeah, i’m here. you’re okay,” he’s yawning in weak reply, chin finding its place on the top of her head as his eyes give into the temptation to close. “g’night, princess.”