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Hollis’s trial loaves of French bread were a little hard, but his second batch came out light and fluffy. He made six, froze three, and saved one for the house. Sliced them and put them in ziplock bags for the next night.

What was that bread you made when you first came here?

I like that, “first came here,” Walt said, soft. I don’t know, it was some Depression-era bread. I hadn’t made bread in forty years; I was just trying my best.

Hollis hmmed. He turned on the bathroom light and started the tub.

Walt leaned them against the sink so he could inspect Hollis’s pores.

I love your eyes.

Yeah? What color were yours?

Green.

Walt paused, then continued squeezing the sides of Hollis’s nose.

Surprised no one’s noticed yet.

I’m not. No one looks at me close enough.

Walt swiped a towel and threw it at the bottom of the door, pushing through the crevices until it was close to airtight. Then he opened the window and turned off the light.

The moon was full and bright out, but still Walt didn’t look at him.

Hollis lay there in his skin and boiled with want.

He flicked on Jorge’s lighter for Walt but let him take care of the rest, leaning their head back on the lip of the tub.

Tell me about someone else you rode in. How far did you go with them and their wives?

Walt crossed their ankles.

You’re not slick, Walt said, and blew smoke toward the window . It’s not the same as what you’re asking from me.

Is it because it’s not acting? You said this is like being on a stage for you. Pretending to be someone else, to like someone in another person’s life for their sake. Is it scarier to... to like me for your own sake. Or is it like...

What?

Is it because I’m just a house? For you?

“No,” Walt said into the smoke and the gloom of the bathroom. “You’re not just a house to me.”

Hollis wished he could press his forehead against Walt’s collarbone, drag his nose up his neck, taste the skin behind his ear.

Why d’you even... Hollis, what is wrong with you?

Hollis had thought about it. Quiet one night, when Walt was asleep and he’d stopped trying to reach his phone.

I like your face. I don’t move mine the way you do, the way you make our eyes crinkle when you feel like smiling but don’t want to go all the way. Your expressions are pretty. You have a... The way you stand, it’s... strong. I could imagine it before you even told me what you looked like. I like your voice, and I want to hear it all the time; it drives me crazy. Even on the first day.

I don’t need to touch you to know that I want to.

It was easy to be honest when he didn’t have to speak out loud. When these felt more like wishes than admissions.

“Christ.”

You say the Lord’s name in vain a lot for someone religious.

Your bad behavior is inspirational.

Mm. More than that, Hollis continued. I just like you. You’re funny, you’re kind. When you bitch about things you do it in a way that makes me want to laugh. When you’re scared or sad, you make me feel glad that you’re here in me and not in anyone else. You make me want to take care of you. I want to take care of you.

Walt didn’t say anything to that, but he was thinking. Hollis could feel it.

He brought his hand to the curve of Walt’s neck, grazed the edge of his finger against their skin. Walt flinched and hissed. Hollis did it again, and the water slopped out of the tub onto the floor.

I’m not a coward, Walt.

You make me feel weak.

Is that so. Do I still make you feel sad?

Hollis scraped a line up his neck, and Walt slammed their head back against the tile. Teeth clenched tight.

Shit. Walt hissed.

That’s better. Be quiet for me for a bit.

Hollis clamped his hand around the back of his own neck, cupped it like Yulia did when she thought he needed grounding. Not rough and mean.

Sweet.

Walt slipped them beneath the water to scream.