Inktober 2026 - 20 - Lounge

With a sigh of satisfaction, she slowly slipped into the steamy water of her rose-scented bath. Petals floated on the surface, among the soap bubbles.

“Ah! I definitely needed this,” she told her partner, sprawled onto a sofa nearby, between her and the chimney.

There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and the sound of crackling logs added to the cosy atmosphere of the big room in which they were alone. His eyes on a parchment, he however did not seem as relaxed as his travelling companion:

“What? To simmer in your own warmed-up and liquefied filth for a while?”

She kept her eyes closed and did not frown at his snarky comment. Evidently, she was quite used to his negativity.

“Rest and recuperation, silly. This is really nice, you should try it; maybe it will get rid of those wrinkles on your forehead.”

“Meh. Doubt it. I’m pretty sure I was born with them.”

“Well, thank you again for agreeing to make this stop.”

That expression of gratitude got half a smile out of him.

“You’re welcome. Whatever keeps you in fighting shape, really.”

They both fell silent for some time, her enjoying her spa time, and him still studying the writings he had in his hands. Eventually, she did come out of her meditation and crossed her arms on the edge of the bathtub to look at him, resting her chin on them.

“So what do you do to unwind, then?” she asked.

“Nothing. I don’t. Why do you care?”

“I’m curious. Human bodies are machines, and machines need maintenance.”

With a groan of annoyance, he finally looked up from what he was looking at.

“I sleep at night, eat when I’m hungry, that’s all the maintenance I need.”

“That’s not maintenance, those are just operating costs.”

“I guess some machines are just better oiled than others, then.”

“You don’t drink alcohol, you don’t consume any drug of any kind, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone in particular either.”

He grunted and rolled his eyes at the enumeration.

“Are vices really the only other options for relaxation in your book besides… whatever this is?” he criticised, gesturing at the room with one arm, his other hand still holding the parchment.

“I’m just saying. Steam needs blowing off every now and then…”

“The only steam I see here is the one emanating from that bath of yours.”

“Well, you should be careful, because some might come out of your ears soon if you keep staring at that paper for much longer.”

“Wouldn’t that mean I’m blowing it off, then?”

She snorted at how he had turned her own metaphor against her, and went back to her bath, turning away from him once more. Guessing he had hurt her feelings a little, he took a deep breath.

“I sing songs.”

“What?”

“To get out of my head, I sing songs.”

“I’ve never heard you sing. Ever. Not even a hum.”

“That’s just because I don’t need to get out of my head when I’m with you.”