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Levi's arms are burning by the time he has brought the bucket of fresh water to the cafe. The immediate full-force grin he sees upon his entrance makes it just a distant ache.
"Sorry again. I know that must have been a pain in the ass to haul here."
Henryk comes to receive him at the counter. The urge to tuck the insides of his arms as close to his body as possible is strong; he resists it because it would just be drawing attention to an obvious thing. It's not like his track marks are inconspicuous. Just because Henryk has been polite enough not to bring them up doesn't mean he's blind.
It's still hard, though. They're completely bared for a moment just before he brings the bucket up to the counter. "...it's no problem. You keep me fed, so… but is shaving really that important?"
Henryk fakes a gasp of outrage, hand clutched to his chest. "Is it important! Are these the naive words of a boy who isn't shaving regularly I hear?"
"Yeah… I guess." Some unconvincing soft black hairs are all he occasionally has to deal with. Facsimile of a facsimile of facial hair. "But it's not like… there's people around."
"You're around," Henryk replies, back to grinning. It's just a joke, but the implication that he cares what he thinks of his appearance makes his chest squeeze together weird. "It's a… guess you could say a morale thing, too. I hate feeling scruffy."
"You don't look scruffy." His eyes are glued to the ground as he says it. He hears Henryk chuckle, and gets the creeping sensation up his spine that tells him he's reaching over the counter to manhandle the back of his head. With the alarm bell ringing comes a mish-mash of things too quick and conceptual to call memory; it's more like instinct, the concept of father and priest and officer and enemy stuck in a body-idea of memory.
The moment his hand lands—as Levi forces himself to remain still for it to land—the alarm dulls, becoming not quite so urgent. The scruffing is a little rough, a little painful, but he knows it's kindly meant, and even with the twinge is a sweeter, more mysterious feeling. He mumbles a protest because it's expected, he thinks, that a guy his age not just let an unrelated older male touch him like this.
It's a disappointment when he takes his hand back, and a relief to not be forced to think about it.
"You're sweet, kid. But," sighing ruefully, "there's no ignoring what I feel every time I touch my face. The light color hides it better, that's all."
Levi squints at him sideways. It's hard to tell details when there's just a candle to see by. He supposes his jawline looks more sticker-like than it had the morning they'd met. "So… you found a razor?"
"Yep. And a bit of soap. Not my first choice, but what can you do? The real problem was where to shave, really. No good lighting to see by anywhere. Then I figured, since you're here—"
"Me…?"
"Sure. Of course, I can do some of it by feel. I've only been doing this for over a decade. But I've never done it without a mirror, so you can double-check my work."
"...fine." Whatever kept him occupied. It was one of Levi's reasons to help from the start. The other night he'd stayed in here to do maintenance on his guns and noticed him staring at the wall nearly the whole time, his hand trembling as the fingers tapped over and over in rhythms that were making him restless just listening to them.
He wanted to make it better, the same way in his early childhood he and his mother would work together when his father was agitated. To keep him off the bottle. Henryk isn't likely to go in an alcohol-fueled rage and beat someone to death, but it makes him creepy-crawly in his skin, the need to do something or, failing that, make himself scarce.
So he'll stand here and do whatever is needed. Keep him smiling and nothing bad will happen.
Even so, he jumps a little when he starts unbuttoning his vest.
Henryk flashes him an apologetic smile. "I'd probably get soap and water all over my clothes. And this weather isn't conducive for, uh, putting things out to dry."
"N-no… I don't care. I was just surprised…"
And he doesn't care. Not really. He's been surrounded by casual male nudity half his life. No such thing as privacy when you're at a minimum of a dozen to a room. At least, he doesn't care in the sense of getting prudish about it. But it bothers him on some level. There's some kind of prickling awareness that makes his headspace race with unnameable things as Henryk undoes the front of his vest and pulls it off, the suggestion of undressing, making the shape of the body beneath more obvious. That's the slight swell of his chest there, leading to his ribs. The lean line from waist to hip.
Levi hears his gulp in his ears. Where does he look? Right at Henryk is too weird. So is avoiding him entirely, if he's comfortable enough to undress. They're just two guys hanging out, and he's done this over and over without it being weird, how did that go again?
Henryk does not by any account appear to be paying him any attention, even as he's unbuttoning his dress shirt. He looks as easy of mind as if he were disrobing in his own bedroom. A light fleece glints gold on his chest from the candlelight, and on his forearms as he neatly folds his clothing away. In between looking and not looking, Levi takes further reluctantly fascinated note of him; strong arms but overall the average fit build of an everyman who is just particular enough about his appearance. Not a muscular glistening god by any means, but… it's Henryk, so… just thinking, 'that's his body, how he looks under his clothes' makes his stomach twist and float at the same time.
When he starts splashing his face with the water, grumbling about how cold it is, it feels safer to just look at him. Yeah, he's half-naked still, but it's less personal when he isn't actively in the process of getting there. Levi relaxes into the counter. He has an excuse now to watch him; to see him shave properly. And that's all he's looking for. Seeing the way the water drips down his arms and neck, leaving gleaming wet trails is just side-stuff. He's not looking for it but it's inevitable in the course of things.
Next he lathers his face with a plain bar of soap he'd filched from some residence. Levi sees his stubble bristling between his fingers as he works it up.
"It's too bad you're not shaving yet," he says, pfft-ing some bubbles from his mouth. "I could have had you do this for me."
Levi manages some kind of demurring noise without really thinking about it. If he thought about it… that's something to turn around and see all the sides of by himself, at his own leisure.
"No? I wouldn't even mind if you scraped me a few times. Alll-Mer knows I've done it to myself often enough." He smiles at him for a moment, so broadly it crinkles his eyes, then turns more thoughtful as he feels for his sideburn, razor in hand.
It's a slow, careful process. One stripe, two stripes, dragging the instrument through the foam. His fingers brush up and down the cleared paths. Periodically he shakes the razor in the water bucket. They both seem to hold their breath as he makes his way over his upper lip and around the corners of his lips. Underneath, there's the shallow before his chin. At any moment Levi expects a spot of blood to well up. Not even the gentle scrapings down his neck make him as nervous. But none does. Once he's back on the other side of his jaw, he figures the worst of it is over.
"...how often do you shave?"
"Daily. I like being clean-shaven. Gives me more peace of mind when I'm working with food, too."
"Oh… it's not always this annoying, is it?"
Henryk has to pause to laugh. "No, no. Usually I'd be done by now. It's like five minutes when you're used to it."
Even so. Five minutes a day for the rest of Levi's lifetime sounds like a lot to maintain something just to keep himself from looking goofy. He hopes he doesn't have to for a long time still.
The hopeful rinse comes next with the very same water Henryk had shaved with—'wasn't gonna ask you to bring more just to avoid my stubble'—enthusiastically splattered up all over his face and coming down in interesting rivulets over collarbone and chest. Levi is not looking at that either, not really, except in maybe incidental glances. Mostly he's observing from the neck up, waiting to do what he's supposed to.
Henryk takes a brisk rubbing to his face with a washcloth, more like he's cleaning off than drying off. It leaves a faint red hue along his jaw. Considering the past day, the need to must have taken hold of him. The cloth ends up rubbing across his nose too, and making a pass over his forehead before scrubbing his neck and upper torso. It's not much, but it must feel nice. Levi gets itchy if he thinks about all the places he's been lately in conjunction with how long ago his last bath was.
"There! How bad is the damage?" He thrusts his face over the counter at him, startling him slightly with the proximity. "Any touch-ups needed?"
Levi settles himself and gets as close as he can bear to. The free license to stare is oddly liberating; so much it unnerves him, so that he can't take the full advantage he wants to. His observation is quick and business-like all around, lingering only a moment on the lips. "It's hard to tell, but… there's a bit I think you missed. On your cheek. Uh, left side." A thin trail of glittering hairs missed just between one stripe of the razor and the next.
"Which left? Yours?"
"Yours."
Then he's rubbing his fingers in not quite the right spot.
"A little more… closer to your ear."
"Here?" Now he's too far past.
"Um, can I…?" Before he can think better of it, he puts his own fingers on Henryk's face, just the tips so it's not like he's holding his face or anything like that. The stubble pricks but he barely notices next to all the over information his brain wants him to receive. That either from the water and soap or naturally, Henryk's skin is cool and slightly dry, yielding. He'd have to touch him more to know. "Right here."
He doesn't think he'll be offended, not with how often he's scruffing the back of his head. But he still fears some kind of rebuke when their eyes meet.
Henryk doesn't look angry. He doesn't look at all different. "Here?" His hand comes up. To find the spot, his hand grips the back of Levi's. Their fingers overlap.
This close, even his eyelashes are blond. Levi had never known they could be other colours; he'd never looked someone in the face close enough to notice. And they're long and pretty, like a girl's in a comic strip. "You got it."
Levi pulls his hand back and watches as the last little line is shaved off. His heart is pounding so hard it's making him queasy. Of course Henryk isn't offended. All he did was what he wanted him to do. So that's the only way he took it, the only way he understood it, and the more Levi thinks that, the sicker he feels. It implies there was another way to take it. A way that he himself must be taking it.
It hurts.
Another check and Henryk re-dresses, shrugging back into his clothing as casually as he'd shrugged out of them. Levi keeps his gaze to the floor. "I'll make you something special as thanks. What are you feeling? I'll see what I can do."
"Nothing particular…"
"Chef's choice, huh?" Henryk nods to that, then gives him a squint. "You come over sick all of a sudden? You look tired."
"Mhm… I dunno." He shrugs a shoulder. "It's nothing."
"You're always like that," words often heard in varying tones of irritation. But from him, they sound fond, in the exasperated way someone can be with a child… or a sibling… a pet. "It's nothing! Well, then I'll just make something to warm you up. You need that at least, in this fog. You'll eat, right?"
"Yeah."
"Thatta boy."
He scruffs the back of his head again. A little pain, a little sweet. For several long seconds Levi's view of the floor distorts and blurs.