Blame It On The Joint!
Hugo stepped out of the bathroom, steam rolling out behind him like he was some kind of action hero emerging from an epic battle.
Only instead of a battlefield, it was just a hot shower, and instead of victory, he was still facing the war called Lisa.
A cheap towel hung low around his waist, and water dripped from his freshly washed hair, dampening the carpet. He sniffed his arm cautiously and gave an approving nod.
"Alright," he muttered, giving himself a whiff. "Fresh. Clean. No funky soap smell. We're off to a good start. No way Lisa's gonna turn me down because I smell like budget lavender or weird cucumber body wash."
He paused, catching sight of himself in the mirror. For a moment, he froze, staring at his reflection.
His muscles, though modest, were way more defined than they'd ever been. His jawline looked sharper, his skin clearer, and he wasn't even imagining it.