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We can’t do that in public, not even accidentally.

I know. I’m not stupid.

I’m serious, Hollis, we gotta be vigilant. I... I can’t handle it.

Really? Why?

Stop mocking me. You know why.

Hollis stared at Walt in the mirror.

Paused half shaven, razor against their cheek. He dragged the blade across the side of their jaw, then tilted his chin up and swiped to the tip without breaking his gaze.

And suddenly, Walt felt heavy with it, like lava flowing down his spine to pool at the bottom of his stomach. He was watching, riveted, clinging to the side of the sink with their other hand.

Hollis turned their face to the side and scraped it clean, clicking the razor against the basin out of habit before turning the water on, and gave their face to Walt. So he could see what he felt, look at him raw.

He was tired, expectant. Indolent, amused. Walt pulled the cloth from the bar beside the shower and wet it, squeezed it. Covered their mouth, slipped it down to their neck, then dropped it, soiled, onto the porcelain.