The bathroom of the penthouse was a sprawling oasis of white marble and gold fixtures, a relic of a billionaire's life before the world turned purple. Now, it was filled with the thick, swirling steam of a hot shower—a luxury more valuable than gold in the apocalypse.
Daniel stood in the center of the spray, his eyes closed. The warm water was the closest thing to a hug he'd felt since the world ended, and he was seconds away from falling asleep standing up.
"You're swaying, Daniel," Sophia's voice echoed off the tiles.
He opened one eye. The steam was dense, but it couldn't hide the fact that the bathroom was suddenly very crowded.
Sophia stood by the vanity, letting her silk skirt fall to the floor with a soft rustle. She stepped into the shower enclosure, her skin pale and luminous in the dim light. Kafka followed, her athletic body marked with a few faint scars from her time in the army—reminders of a world that was gone. Finally, Mia stepped in, her curves draped only in the mist of the steam, looking every bit the "Goddess of Life" she was trying to preserve.
"The shower is... a communal resource now?" Daniel mumbled, his back hitting the cool marble wall as the three women surrounded him.
"It's about efficiency," Sophia said, stepping directly into his personal space. She picked up a sponge, her eyes locking onto his. "And observation. My tablet showed a massive spike in your luck-signature when Mia touched your arm earlier. I have a hypothesis."
"A hypothesis?" Daniel asked, his voice hitching as Mia began to lather soap onto his chest. Her hands were warm, expert, and lingered just a bit too long on his muscles.
"Resonance," Mia whispered, her face inches from his. "The closer we are to the source of the Luck, the more it stabilizes. If we're... touching... the Mana Death can't even get within a mile of this building."
Kafka stepped behind him, her strong hands gripping his shoulders. She started to knead the tension out of his neck with a force that made Daniel let out a low, involuntary groan. "You're carryin' the weight of the world, Von," she grunted near his ear. "Least we can do is make sure you're relaxed."
The air in the shower grew heavy—not just with steam, but with a palpable, electric charge. Daniel felt his exhaustion warring with a sudden, sharp heat in his blood.
His [Lucky Charm] attribute began to hum. It wasn't the low, steady buzz of a nap. It was a frantic, golden vibration.
Suddenly, the showerhead—an old, high-pressure model—rattled. A pipe behind the wall hissed.
"Wait," Sophia muttered, her hand resting on Daniel's hip. "The pressure is too high. The boiler must be—"
CRACK.
A valve in the ceiling snapped. But instead of scalding water spraying them, a hidden, secondary emergency reservoir—one filled with scented, therapeutic oils from the penthouse's "Spa Mode"—burst open.
The fragrant oil rained down over the four of them, slicking their skin and making the tile beneath them dangerously slippery.
"Whoa—" Daniel stumbled, his feet sliding.
He fell backward, but he didn't hit the floor. He landed on the built-in marble bench, and because of the slick oil, the three women tumbled right on top of him.
It was a chaotic, tangled mess of limbs and soft skin. Mia landed squarely in his lap, her eyes wide and breath hitching. Sophia was pressed against his left side, her glasses fogged and discarded, while Kafka pinned his right arm, her heart beating like a drum against his bicep.
"The luck," Sophia breathed, her face flushed a deep crimson. "Daniel... look at the window."
Through the steamed-up glass of the bathroom, they could see the purple fog outside. As they lay there, tangled together in a pile of spicy curves and slick oil, the purple mist was being shoved back. A massive, golden dome of energy was expanding from the penthouse, pushing the apocalypse away for miles in every direction.
"It's not just touch," Mia realized, her hands sliding up to cup Daniel's face. "It's... intimacy. The more 'connected' we are to you, the safer the world becomes."
Kafka looked down at Daniel, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well then. I guess we have a literal moral obligation to stay right here."
Daniel looked up at the three of them. He was still tired. He still wanted to sleep. But as Mia leaned down to claim his lips, and Sophia's hands wandered lower, he realized his "nap" was going to be delayed for a very, very long time.
"I'm never getting that eight hours, am I?" Daniel sighed, his eyes finally closing as he gave in to the "protection" of his three new companions.
"Nope," Kafka whispered against his neck. "Not a chance."