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Summary
He’s on his feet before he’s even had a chance to think about it, fag tossed carelessly out the window. Heart in his throat, unable to keep himself from picturing the worst — Edward collapsed in the tub, blood stained tile — he skids to a stop in the doorway, just in time to keep himself from calling out as he realizes he’d misunderstood the noise he heard quite badly.
Edward is not prone, not bleeding, not anything of the sort. Rather, he has things well in hand indeed, leaning forward under the spray, one arm braced against the wall before him while the other works steadily between his legs. Thomas covers his mouth like a maid at the sight, equally terrified he might make a sound and amused at his own dramatics; neither enough to distract from the heat that bubbles under his skin and pools in the pit of his stomach. How long has it been since he’s been touched? How long has it been for the Lieutenant?
Edward is convalescing at the Abbey with the other soldiers, but he takes his showers alone, once the others have gone to bed. Thomas waits for him outside, but rushes in to find something quite different when he thinks he's heard him slip.
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