The wet shine of the freshly-mopped floor glints back in the natural light. The late afternoon sun speckles through the window in shades of yellow and white, casting warm patterns across the wooden surface.

Chores are always set to be done, and this week it was his husband's responsibility—which he'd done a fine job at, given that the apartment looks clean but still lived in, just the way both of them liked it. The air carries a faint scent of cleaning products mixed with the chamomile aroma that always seems to linger around Medkit.

Medkit slips out of the bedroom down the hall, book in hand, something he'd spent the afternoon reading to occupy his time. His mint-colored deer ear gives a small twitch at the sanitized scent in the air, and his dark hooves make soft clicking sounds against the threshold between carpet and hardwood.

"Did you clean?" he asks rather shortly with a tilt of his head, green eye regarding the space with a neutral expression that gives nothing away about his thoughts.

Before his husband can think to answer though, Medkit's hoof gives way oddly on the slippery floor. He instinctively grabs onto the nearest wall as hard as he can, like a cat clinging to a tree branch, golden jewelry glinting as his arm shoots out. The book slips from his other hand, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He stands there for a moment with wide eyes before he can regain his senses, ears flattened slightly against his head.

Medkit mutters out a, "..I'll take that as a yes," tapping the living room floor with his hoof slightly nervously as he carefully releases his death grip on the wall. His tail flicks once, a small show of embarrassment he'd never acknowledge.

The wet hardwood is still slippery, but it's not too difficult to navigate.

Unless you have hooves.