[ He isn't. Can't be. The shower is cursory at best, under the water only long enough to scrub the oilslick from his skin, not bothering to re-dress when he lifts his sling ring from the shower stand and opens a portal into Jim's home in the woods. Towel tucked haphazardly around his waist (pointless, tented), hair still sleep-mussed and sprinkled with shower spray, and for as many months and realities as they are away from a life they never truly lived for a moment he could be stepping out of their en suite in the first apartment they shared, in the first house they owned, emerging from bathrooms in the places they each lived apart before succumbing to the inevitable.
He wants him. Stands there fresh clean, disheveled, dripping a pool of water onto his floor as the portal spins closed. Looking for him. Wanting him badly enough not to feel foolish for any of it. ]
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He wants him. Stands there fresh clean, disheveled, dripping a pool of water onto his floor as the portal spins closed. Looking for him. Wanting him badly enough not to feel foolish for any of it. ]