The smell of the massage room laid beneath the subtler warmth of herbal infusions, woven into the air like a second skin. The purification vents along the ceiling exhaled in slow, rhythmic intervals, filtering away any stray particle that did not belong.
Lin's hands hovered beneath the wash station, the water temperature adjusting to his biometrics. The warm stream pulsed, a carefully calibrated balance between sanitation and conservation. He flexed his fingers, watching the pearlescent cleansing gel dissolve over his skin, the delicate scent of citrus and antiseptic lifting into the sterile air.
Behind him, Dorin hadn't moved from his seat in the preparation area, arms draped lazily over the backrest. His presence was impossible to ignore especially his musky scent.
Lin didn't look at him. Instead, he tapped the screen embedded into the countertop, reviewing the pre-consultation hygiene checklist.
Patient Status: Awaiting Verification.
Lin exhaled through his nose and turned.
Dorin tilted his head slightly, his storm-gray gaze already on Lin, unreadable but watchful.
"Have you completed the cleansing protocols before arrival?" Lin asked, voice measured.
A slow smirk. "That a real question?"
Lin didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Dorin let the moment stretch before shifting, rolling a broad shoulder in an almost careless motion. "Yeah, yeah. Rinsed off. Even used the fancy antiseptic soap, just for you."
Lin stepped closer, pressing his palm against the terminal beside Dorin's seat. The sensor activated, scanning the micro-bacterial balance on Dorin's skin. The screen flickered green. Acceptable levels.
Lin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging compliance, then moved toward the main therapy area. Behind him, he heard the deliberate creak of Dorin pushing to his feet, the sound weighted with something heavier than simple movement.
The therapy room was designed for efficiency and comfort, blending medical precision with the organic warmth of the mandatory biomaterials. The seating structures curved into the floor rather than standing separate, crafted from smooth biotextiles that adjusted to body weight and temperature. Overhead, the recessed lighting pulsed at a near-imperceptible rhythm, calibrated to keep both patient and therapist steady, calm, receptive.
Lin stood beside the therapy table, waiting as Dorin stepped inside. He was already shedding the outer layers of his work jacket, moving with that same slow, unhurried confidence that Lin had noted earlier. The scars along his forearms caught the light, faint remnants of encounters with machinery. A rare sight in a world where resources are coveted.
"Stand here," Lin instructed, motioning toward the base of the table. Dorin followed without question.
