He hesitates, then sighs and pushes away from the stove. "The fucking water has to boil anyway."

He closes the distance between himself and the table and stands for a minute, looking down at Neil--tired, half naked, hair rumpled with sleep, and how many times has he seen this?

Never before now. And more times than he can count.

He sinks down into the chair, hesitates again, and reaches out and closes his hand over Neil's. "Thought I might lose you," he murmurs. "And I don't really even fucking have you, so where's that start making sense?"