Asher didn't waste time.
He slipped into the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him as Xavier remained outside, waiting. The silence between them lingered even through the barrier—heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts.
The water ran.
Fast.
Efficient.
Asher wasn't in the mood to linger or indulge in comfort. His mind was elsewhere, scattered between Xavier's strange behavior, the tension he had sensed earlier, and that unsettling invitation to meet his mother.
Something wasn't right.
He finished quickly.
Dried off.
Dressed.
When he stepped out of the dressing room, he had already chosen one of his more glamorous outfits—something bold, something that defined him. The so-called "married standard" attire didn't even cross his mind.
Xavier knew who he was.
And if Xavier thought he could box him into a fixed image—
He was wrong.
Asher adjusted his sleeves as he walked out, only to find Xavier exactly where he had left him.
Waiting.
