Steam drifted out from the bathroom door as Min-jae stepped into his room with a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was damp, falling in loose strands that clung to his cheeks.
He had scrubbed until his skin felt raw. He had washed twice. He had rinsed three times. He had used every scented soap available.
It still was not enough.
He lifted his shirt and sniffed himself again.
The faint scent of fruit lingered stubbornly, as if determined to cling to him forever. A mixture of sweetness and sourness clung to the air around him. It was like he had fallen into a winery, rolled across an orchard floor, and taken a nap in a fruit stall.
He let out a long breath of frustration and sat on the edge of the bed. "I still smell like juice."
There was a knock on the door.
