I know where everything is by touch and memory. Five steps from the doorway to the sunken tub. The spigot is on the right. I crank the knobs fully on, letting the water heat as it runs, and lean down to plug the drain. My hand trails up the smooth stone side of the tub, its depth carved directly into the foundation such that I can fully submerge if I wish. The interior surfaces are ground smooth as alabaster and shaped to cradle a reclining form. It is a work of art, to my mind, and one of the few luxuries I allow myself. Most everything else in my home is sparse and functional. 

I turn away, leaving the water to burble from the spigot, and ensure there is a towel draped over the nearby rack. There is. Meshani would not allow there to not be one. I smile, and feel a small shiver of emotion race up my spine once again. He is so good to me.

Satisfied, I shuck my clothing. The material whispers softly as I drag the silken shirt over my head. Plants are only now beginning to grow well, thanks to vast amounts of technology, but the silkworm larvae are farmed easily in these caverns. Most dyes are hard to obtain as well, so most people wear shades of earthen tones or greens taken from the moss and lichen native to the subterranean world. My employment status allows me further liberties, and I have a variety of hues in my wardrobe. Though it is unseen in the dark, my current shirt of muted red is deposited into the laundry hamper opposite the towel stand. I follow it with my trousers and smallclothes, both in more traditional brown hues. 

Finally do I tend to my hair, releasing it from the strip of cloth binding it back. I find my comb on the shelf above the hamper, my fingers lightly gripping the wooden implement. It is a small luxury, like my long hair, and I meticulously run the tines through the length of my cocoa colored mane. My hair is thick, the mass of it as big around as my wrist when bound, and the process takes time as I listen to the sound of the water rising to fullness in the basin. 

I finish with my hair and shut off the water immediately, only then replacing the comb upon its shelf, and slip into the water's warm embrace. It swells up my chest, lapping eagerly, but I merely settle into its depths and soak for several long minutes. The warmth of it eases the tightness in my muscles. I simply enjoy it in silence and utter darkness.

The block of soap sits at my right hand, and I hiss between my teeth as the coarseness of it scours my skin while I wash. Around me, my hair begins to absorb the water and sink into the tub's depths. I replace the soap when I finish. Taking up the fired earthen container beside it, I scoop a portion of its contents into my hand. This I apply to my sodden hair, massaging the thick cream into the strands and combing it with my fingers down the length. I take a second portion and repeat the ministration before pinching off my nose to dunk my head beneath the surface. Water sluices off my scalp when I resurface.

I soak for a few minutes more before the water begins to cool too much. The heat never seems to last long enough to suit my desires. Perhaps I am absorbing it. Regardless, I rise from my lounging and step from the bath, finding the towel and absently drying my skin before securing it about my waist once I am clear of the water. I reach in to remove the plug, allowing the water to begin draining, and wring my hair free of excess water as the basin empties. 

I recognize the growing illumination quickly. Meshani pads into the room shortly, carrying the candle before him. It is a slow enough transition that I do not experience pain. He places the candle upon the highest shelf and begins to roll out his barbering kit stored immediately below. I retrieve a small folding stool from where we store it beside the vanity, snapping it open and seating myself in the middle of the room. 

This is comfortable routine for us. I trust no one else to perform this service for me. Before Meshani, I would shave myself. But it was a difficult task and I would often nick my skin. This arrangement is much more satisfactory.

Meshani is a barber by profession. It is a highly regarded position in our civilization, and he is among the best; his services are in high demand and command a hefty fee. It is yet one more reason I consider myself unworthy of him, but he feels the same of me. 

His hands are steady as he unfolds a fresh towel across my bare chest. The confidence of many years doing this very thing directs his actions. I allow my eyes to drift shut once more, trusting Meshani implicitly. He whispers to me as he proceeds through the steps, each quiet word a warning so that I do not adversely react when he applies the lather and begins to remove the stubble of hair. The blade of the straight razor feels lethal against my skin as he works, and with anyone else I would react in kind. But his gentle touch and soft words soothe my edges. His fingers are warm as he tilts my head, adjusting the angles to suit his needs for a clean shave. 

Meshani barbers my throat, chin, jaw, and sides of my neck. He knows not to linger over my veins and windpipe. I would never harm Meshani, but I would tense up, and he may nick flesh accidentally. 

Soon he is finished, and I allow my eyes to open once more as I hear him begin cleaning up his tools. He methodically returns his tools to their place, then takes up a fresh towel to wipe any residue away from my face. The towels he chooses for this are of only the softest fibers, for he knows how sensitive my skin is. 

I wrap my hands about his upper legs as he finishes this task, asking for closeness without words, and he allows himself to be pulled a step closer. He mindlessly tosses the towel into the hamper then enfolds me in his arms. I press my now smooth cheek to the flat expanse of his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, hearing the faint pulse of his steady heartbeat. It is these quiet moments that remind me of how very fortunate I am.

"Will you be visiting Grandy today?" Meshani asks at length. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it still feels over loud.

I pull my head away just long enough to give a nod. "It is Survivors' Day, after all," I mutter, allowing my cynicism to color the words in dark sarcasm. "We owe it to our heroic forefathers to honor their sacrifices." 

Meshani's grip tightens briefly. "Tarriq," he remonstrates me gently. "They need to hang on to their beliefs to remember hope." I offer only a snort as a reply, allowing myself to be chastised but not feeling apologetic for speaking truth. "As long as we remember the truth and Grandy's tales, let them have their simple safety." Meshani is much more forgiving than I. "I will give you the bundle of sweets I made for Grandy, to take to him."

"He will enjoy them," I reply, with genuine warmth replacing my aggravation.

I feel Meshani's smile in his embrace. He is easy to read, and I appreciate him all the more for it. His simple pleasure seems to warm his skin.

I release his legs then, and he steps away so I can rise and put away the stool. He retrieves the candle and moves into the bedroom, and I hear him rummage in our dresser. He is setting out clothing for me. I remove the towel from about my waist and place it in the hamper before joining him.

Dressing is a pleasure when he aids me, for I know that he has chosen attire that fits me well and flatters my sharp lines while being silken and easy to move in. I feel his eyes upon me, enjoying my nudity, and I take my time to allow him the opportunity. He has chosen billowing trousers in dark green, tied loosely at the waist and ankles, and a sleeveless shirt in ochre. The smallclothes are a muted ruddy hue, the softest I own. A sigh escapes me as I slip them on, savoring the sensation but also teasing Meshani. I know he sees through my ulterior motives. But I also know he enjoys my responses. The trousers are next, and I make sure to allow him a good view of my posterior as I secure the waist tie. I hear his appraising purr. The sound stirs my desire, so I stretch languorously as I draw my hair free of my trousers. I draw the shirt over my head last, slowly, feeling a smile lift the corners of my mouth. 

Meshani comes to draw my hair into a tail once more, my comb in his hand. I can feel his tenderness in each stroke as he draws the implement through the mass of strands. It is soothing in a way that few other things are. His practiced fingers snug the tail at the nape of my neck, and I shudder at the caress he adds down my spine after. 

It is a game we play, to tease each other. I lose often. My passions run hot too often for it to be otherwise. It is the only game I do not mind losing.

Meshani knows my emotions are ascendant right now, so does not tempt me as much as other times. He is not cruel. Instead, he murmurs to me softly as he takes up the candle. "I will fetch you the package, Tarriq, so you may go visit Grandy." I hear the affection in his voice. 

"Thank you." I keep my reply simple, so that my own affection may shine through.

I follow him to the kitchen and remain in the doorway as he removes a waxed paper bundle from our larder. The package is placed upon the small table at which we take our meals, then he retrieves my goggles from where he hung them upon the back of my chair. He presents them to me in both hands, his face soft as he gazes upon me, and I allow my hands to linger upon his as I accept them. I know he can read my deep affection and devotion. 

He retrieves the package of sweets as I secure the goggles about my eyes once more. Our home is almost the only place I can safely remove them, due to Meshani's consideration. I know that he uses much more illumination when I am at work, just as I use none when he is away. To see him today has been a rarity, as I work nights against his days. He has this day as a holiday, as do almost all those who reside in the sub-city. 

I enjoy no such thing. My job is too important. I will have to report in tonight as I do any other night.

I accept the sweets from Meshani and feel a slight reluctance sweep over me. Because it has been good to see him. To touch him. To kiss him. 

But it is just as important to visit Grandy. "I will only be gone for a short time," I tell him, the promise more for myself than Meshani. 

He cups my cheek gently with his hand and I lean into the touch. "Take your time," he replies. "I will be here when you return and we will take a meal together before sleep."

"I look forward to it," I sigh as he withdraws his hand, and force myself to not grasp after him in desperation. Instead I bow my head and take my leave.

His whisper follows me down the hall to the entry. "Be safe, love of my heart."

"I shall, keeper of my all."

I put on my shoes, retrieve my key, and quickly slip out the door, before my will fails and I turn back.