“—twenty minutes, just needs stirring.” The sound was muffled, even more distorted than usual. He’d have to check the microphone position.
“Ugh, this has got mould on it.”
“That’s Tom’s. Leave it.”
“God, he’s so useless. And such a creep. He just stares! Are you alright if I jump in the shower?”
Tom yanked his headphones off. He knew they’d been talking behind his back, and now he had proof. He turned to his computer, where an empty bath and shower curtain filled the screen. From down the hall he heard the lock on the bathroom door, and he smiled.
Bio: Jamie Thunder lives, reads, and writes in south London, and tries to behave better than his characters. He’s been published by Storgy, Spelk Fiction, and The Pygmy Giant.