The blonde would sell his soul to see a smile spread across his soft features; for tiny pricks of happiness to tug at the corners of his thin lips and pull back into a smile, revealing two perfectly straight rows of crystal white teeth. He would hand him a shirt, and leave him with the same three words. ‘Wash it off.’ It’s never a demand. It’s never a question. It was always just done.
It was late evening when Perttu heard the knock at his door. He held his breath, not daring to tear his eyes away from the computer screen. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. He chewed his lip. It was very, very unusual for him to ever get visitors, let alone this time of night. Rain tapped almost inaudibly against the windows, car tyres rolling over wet tarmac echoed from somewhere outside; but there was no sounds of any movements coming from outside the door. The black haired man relaxed himself and turned his attention back to his computer.