spits toothpaste into the sink, voice slightly muffered You’re going to be late, love. Your call sheet said six-thirty.

I know, I know. her voice echoes slightly off the tiles Just trying to wake up properly. The sea air on set yesterday was brutal. Salt in everything.

chuckles, picking up his razor Should’ve brought a wetsuit instead of a corset.

pokes her head out, water streaming down her neck You’re one to talk. Spending your day in a wet, cold quarry pretending a demogorgon is chasing you.

pauses, razor at his jaw, and meets her eyes in the mirror It’s a very convincing demogorgon.