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“What’s this one?” Haleth ran her finger over the lines of the tattoo marking Lalwen’s left shoulder blade.
Lalwen craned her neck, peeking over her own shoulder and shaking water out of her eyes. “Oh, that one? Well, it’s the Zoroastrian symbol for ‘flame-bringer’, and it’s a name I was given on my trek through Iran.”
Haleth frowned. “Really?”
“…Nah. I’ve never even been to Iran. That was a tattoo I got in college to try and make my girlfriend at the time think I was more badass than I actually was.”
Haleth grinned and rested her cheek against Lalwen’s damp skin. “Did it work?” 
“Nope. She dumped me a week after I got it.”
“What a loser.”
“Her or me?”
“You, definitely.”
“Ouch.” Lalwen turned and flicked water at Haleth. “Harsh, darlin’. Anyway, now I say it’s an exotic symbol that means ‘if they don’t like you as you are, a tattoo isn’t going to make things any better’.”
“I like that better.” Haleth stretched up on her toes, closing her eyes to keep the water out of them, and kissed Lalwen on the lips. “Hey, flame-bringer?”
“Yes?”
“The water’s getting cold.”
Lalwen reached back and twisted the shower knob, but it was already cranked all the way to the left. “Damn. It seems we’ve used up all the hot water.”
Haleth shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The temperature of the water was now dropping rapidly. “I told you half an hour ago that we should have just moved to the bedroom.”
“I think you’re remembering yourself as more coherent than you actually were in the moment.”
“Possibly.” Haleth shivered again. “I’m getting out.”
“Right behind you.”
Haleth draped herself in towels and wandered out of the steamed up bathroom, letting out a little yelp as her bare feet hit the cold floor.
“I’ve got embarrassingly huge wooly socks in my top drawer,” Lalwen called after her. “Help yourself to them.”
“Do you have any embarrassingly large wooly sweaters to go with them?” Haleth asked, as she rummaged in Lalwen’s bureau.
“Top shelf of the closet. I can grab them for you if you can’t reach – Was that the door?” Lalwen emerged from the bathroom, her short hair standing up all over her head as she toweled it dry.
“Hm?” Haleth poked her head out of the bedroom and frowned as a knock came at the front door. “Yeah, sounds like it.”
“Maybe it’s the super. He always gets on my case about sorting my trash.” Lalwen pulled on her old, grey flannel bathrobe and headed to the door. She opened it and paused.
“Lalwendë.” Tall, dark-haired and impeccably dressed as ever, Fëanor gave his sister a small nod of greeting. “I was in the neighborhood and remembered that I still owed you a check for the twins’ gym membership. I thought I might as well deliver it person, since I was passing. And I wanted to thank you for encouraging them in this pastime, as I would much prefer them scrambling up rock walls than following in Turkafinwë’s footsteps and playing rugby. Especially considering the…the injuries…” He trailed off as he took in Lalwen’s half-dressed state. “My apologies,” he said, “I seem to have come at a bad time.”
“Oh, no worries, Fëanaro,” said Lalwen, taking the envelope he held out to her. “And it’s my pleasure to teach those two rapscallions of yours. It only took you seven tries, but at last you’ve given me nephews who actually follow in my footsteps! So to speak.”
“Are you – ” Fëanor began, and then broke off as Haleth slipped into the kitchen. “My apologies again, Lalwendë, I was unaware you had a guest.” He frowned. “I – I’m sorry, have we met?”
Haleth shrugged uncomfortably, pushing the sleeves of Lalwen’s big sweater up over her wrists. “I’m not sure, I – ”
“But of course,” said Fëanor, still appraising her. “You’re a friend of Morifinwë’s. We met you at Turkafinwë’s graduation last year.”
“Oh, right,” said Haleth, more uncomfortable than ever.
Fëanor’s eyes narrowed as he took in Haleth’s wet hair and clothing clearly pillaged from Lalwen’s closet. “Lalwendë,” he began, slowly. “Are you – ”
“Look at the time,” said Lalwen loudly. “You know, you’re right, Fëanaro, not the best time for me to chat, eh? Thanks for the check. Keep the boys off the ceiling. We can talk later.”
“Oh, we will,” said Fëanor, loudly, as Lalwen shut the door hastily in his face. “It seems we have a lot to talk about, little sister…”