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She tries the door and groans. “ Chat!” She shakes the handle. “You told me you only shower in the morning!”
He continues humming, the water rushing through the walls.
She huffs. Throwing her towel over her shoulder, she slams down on the handle.
The lock snaps.
Either they’re paying way too much for this apartment, or that pilates society Alya dragged her into joining has actually been helping.
She pushes her way into the bathroom. Steam clings to the tiles, water dripping into the grout. She stalks over to the shower enclosure, opaque with condensation, , and bangs on the glass.
“Chat Noir ,” she says. “Get out!”
He yelps, his feet — the only thing visible through the door — tripping a little against the non-slip mat. The shower switches off, and the water stutters to a halt.
The door opens a crack. Chat Noir peeks through, trying to hold his plastic mask to his face through the moisture. “May I help you?”
She crosses her arms. “We made a deal ,” she says. “You get morning showers, I get evening.”
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think it’d be that much of a problem. You’re never here, anyway.”
“I’m here when I need to relax!”
“I didn’t know that’d be today .”
She groans again. They’d agreed on the rota the same time they signed the lease. You would think that’d make it, like, contractual .
“You know what?” She hangs her towel up. “Fuck you. Move over.” Grabbing hold of the enclosure handle, she yanks it open.
He gasps. “What are you doing ?”
“I am having the nice, long, evening shower that I’ve been looking forward to all day.” She slams the door behind her, and stands in front of him, arms still crossed. “Okay. Turn it on.”
His mouth opens and closes a few times. “I am naked! ”
“I saw you naked when that akuma pulled down your zipper,” she says.
“You are fully clothed.”
“Don’t care. Turn it on.”
He looks at her.
She looks at him.
Reaching behind himself, he turns the shower valve back on.
Water sputters out, soaking right through her hair. He holds her gaze. She does, too, letting the remnants of her foundation run down her face.
“This must be awkward for you,” she says.
He crosses his arms, too. “Not at all.”
“Good.” She wipes her fringe off her forehead. “‘Cause I could do this all evening.”
Water slides off his shoulders.
Her jeans stick to her legs. She shifts uncomfortably. Why does he run his showers so hot? She's already starting to feel lightheaded.
No. She has to hold out. Five, ten minutes more, and she knows he’ll yield. If not, she might have to resort to some very judgemental southbound glances.
Steam slowly rises to the ceiling. She breathes in, nothing but heat entering her lungs.
Okay. No. She can't do this.
Grabbing the hem of her tank top, she peels it off.
“Oh my God, okay, you win!” Chat Noir opens the door and steps out, pulling his towel off the hook. “I won't take evening showers anymore.”
The victory shocks her. “Wait.” Ladybug turns around, wet tank top scrunched up in her hand. “You can stand there with all your bits out but seeing me in a bra is too much?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, My Lady.” Towel now secured around his waist, he leans against the basin. “Do you need an audience? Don't worry, I’m all eyes.”
She shuts the door in his face.