Eminence (In Revision)

Note 8 - Only Human (Revised)

Warren woke to the grumble of a lawnmower cutting through the morning silence. He rolled over, grabbed his phone—8:30. Too early for a Saturday, too early for guests, and definitely too early for the kind of thoughts already crowding his head. Jack would be here later. He wasn't ready.

The shower used to bring peace. Now it was a place where questions clung to his skin.

Is this about food, or sex? Emanon had asked that the night before, and Warren didn't have an answer. They hadn't had sex. They made out until her stomach growled, and then they made French toast. No sultry syrup-dripping moment followed, no pinning her against the kitchen counter—just warmth. Warren hadn't been disappointed, exactly. Just nervous. Relationships weren't his strong suit, and by most standards, this one had already gone off script.

When his coworker brought up his ex yesterday, it sent his mind looping again—not affectionate enough, not jealous, not open, not enough. Always not enough. It's not that he didn't care, he just never figured out how to connect—only how to stay distant enough not to be hurt. That failure clung to him like a scent he couldn't wash off. His thoughts spiraled until a soft knock at the bathroom door pulled him back.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Warren?" Emanon's voice came through the door.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

The door creaked open, and Emanon stepped inside.

"Did you need something?" Warren asked.

"I'm cold. I wanted to shower with you," she said, already slipping off her nightgown.

"That's fine—you can join me," he replied, though she was already stepping in beside him.

The warm space pressed them together, and her expression eased into a kind of serene pleasure—like a snake basking beneath a heat lamp. He almost said it aloud. Almost. She hated being compared to a snake, though it was becoming more of a joke between them. Still, she looked too peaceful to tease.

He chuckled anyway, and the moment felt softer.

Warren's earlier thoughts crept back in. She's my girlfriend. My lover. I should treat her like one—like a woman. The idea pressed against him, heavy and uncertain.

"Em—?" he began.

"Will you wash my hair?" she asked, cutting him off with a soft, hopeful voice.

"Uh—sure..." he replied, reaching for the shampoo and pouring a small amount into his palm.

"You had a question?" she asked.

"Oh—um, I was just wondering if the water's hot enough for you?" he deflected, gently massaging shampoo into her scalp.

"It's hot enough, thank you," she said, closing her eyes under his touch.

Warren felt a flicker of frustration. He wasn't sure how to bring up sex without breaking the delicate rhythm between them. Maybe if he kissed her neck, she'd respond, and they'd take it further—right here, in the shower. But she was much shorter than him, and the cramped space would make it awkward. He could try lifting her, pressing her against the wall—but the logistics were clumsy, the moment not quite right. Quietly conceding, he focused instead on washing her hair.

"Are you alright?" Emanon asked, tilting her head slightly under the stream.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, the lie soft but reflexive.