Oakley's POV
She cooed as she soothed the tiny wound with her finger as I grimaced as the blade barely touched my flesh and drew a little blood. She gave my newly sprouting beard nice lines by running the blade along the edges, which made me wonder where she had picked up the skill. She ran the cuts, the shaving cream slowly vanishing.
She took the towel and cleaned off the leftover cream before rinsing it with water; drops of water trickled from my jaw down to my naked chest. "You look less like a hermit now," she said.
When I looked at my image in the mirror, a shadow of myself gave me a similar look. Despite my unwilling decision to have a beard, I now had a better appearance. However, my eyes still had bags beneath them and the same hooded sorrow.
Feminine hands warmly en
