“Goodness,” she says, making room for a few ‘tsk’s. “At this rate we’ll just have to find you a garden hose.” Still smiling, though. Despite that Pearl’s making it awfully damn hard to be decent.

She reaches down to roll off her soggy socks -- they can wait in the sink, a moment -- before padding the half-step needed to the shower door. Normally the collection of steam on the glass would be enough to obfuscate anyone inside, but the room has cooled, and Pearl is plain to see: long and lovely and needing Rose.

(It’s delicious. Having her boxed in like this. Want tugs, quick and slight and bright as a struck match.)

Considering a playful little knock on the glass -- but discarding the idea -- Rose tugs the door open and neatly plucks the showerhead from Pearl’s hands. She can see right away that it isn’t broken. Pearl must have been squeezing the nozzle too tightly from nerves, and thought she’d jammed it.

But Rose takes a few long, long seconds studying it closely. Her head shakes gravely, and her mouth hums with significant thinking sounds. “Oh, my… I don’t know… hmm…”

(Pearl shivering in her peripheral is a little too sweet to pass up.)

“I’m sorry, Pearl…” She sighs. “Maybe it just --” The showerhead springs to life in her hand and she laughs, “-- works just fine after all!”

The spray is on a gentle setting, but that doesn’t make hosing down her beleaguered houseguest from head to hip any less fun.