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Our footfalls resonate in a slightly chaotic rhythm in the stairwell as we walk up to the fifth floor. You wave your watch near the reader and a tinny beep and loud clank acknowledges that the door is now unlocked. I hold it with a grin as you fumble your mask back on. I follow, pushing my mask back up for the ubiquitous hallway cameras. You lead the way to your room, holding my hand. I find the gesture both endearing and intensely erotic. I want to stop you to ask if you are okay with all of this, but your quick pace and tight grip on my hand tells me all that I ever needed to know. We reach your room, and you open the door, pulling me in. Your eyes dance as you pull of my mask and then yours. The space between our lips collapse as you kiss me intently, pressing me against the door. The taste of you is a heady mix of cocktails and my semen. Our deep kiss is interrupted by the insistent pinging of the new normal. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you burr as we break our kiss, fishing for our phones. “How did people ever fuck before these goddamned notifications,” you enquire, your eyes meeting mine. I grin as I tap the menu granting consent for the night, met by a chime on your phone. “Well, Hannah, It took a successful wooly mammoth hunt and a few blood sacrifices back in the day,” I quip as I am met by your charming laughs.