Wric's head is clouded, and he's completely zoned in on what went wrong there, and what went right. Overthinking, and thinking till the point where it's nothing more than a muddled mess just like his heart. Why did he have to like such an insufferable person? One that was hot one minute, then cold to him the next. He's getting disoriented even with his eyes projecting nothing but pitch black. It's nearly ten minutes later when he's finally settling the debate in his head, and he notices the water is still running. His ears picking up on the small noises that are clearly sensual in nature. Denim starting to pitch as he still has accursed jeans adorning his hindquarters. It sounds to be getting more intense, and the friction only heating up in his jeans.. He has to see with his own two eyes. He needs to know. Is it him she's thinking about?<br/><br/>He's careful with sliding off the bed. Landing gently, and creeping like a home invader through the dorm. Tip toeing until he can tug bathroom door ever so gently to prevent it from creaking, and peering inward. His hand coaxing downwards over denim, and starting to rub the outrageously long cock of his through the fabric. She looked so into it. Every care dropped in the world as she massages her clitoris for her unknowing audience. His body temperature is spiking, and his breathing increasing into soft pants that he muffles with his sparse hand. Too focused on the scene before him, and fixated like the true pervert he was.