"You can help me with this," he grunts, stepping into the shower--but moving a little more reluctantly than he might otherwise have done, the feel of Neil's hand and lips lingering on his skin after they're gone. He folds down the chair and settles into it, sighing in the warmth, reaching down to remove the prosthesis.

"Here." He hands it out foot-forward, and something about it briefly strikes him as surreally humorous. "Prop that up somewhere."

He doesn't want to need the help. But really, it does make some things easier.

And it's not like he minds this particular intrusion that much anyway.