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Learning the habits down in the bunker took minimal amounts of time. Mophead was a quick learner, and being practically forced into everything made them fast to catch on to things. One thing that had started to bother them was the smell. Not just others, mainly Carrie, but their own too. Adding the prickly stubble on their chin and unkept hair made them all too eager to find out where the washrooms were, if they even had them.
They'd asked Warwick, seeming the more reasonable one of the bunch. He'd laughed softly before shrugging.
"We make do with what we get, though I doubt you'll get a bar of soap from someone for nothing." They groaned, sitting down on the mattress behind them, not caring that it was Munroe's. "However, I can offer you a razor. It's eh, no use to me any longer."
The small handle and carefully wrapped package appeared from under Warwick's bunk. Mophead would do with what they'd gotten. Simply glad it was anything at all.
"Thanks," They groaned as they got up. With the wetwork rooms in mind, hoping they were relatively quiet, they made their way through the cold, damp halls. Footsteps followed behind them, and an arm extended over to their shoulder, halting their pace so whoever it was could catch up to them.
"You mind sharing that? I lost mine." Munroe asked, breathing hard as if he'd run there.
"I don't mind," Mophead frowned for a second, playing with the object in their hand. "If you teach me how."
Munroe grinned, nodding.
Before he knew it, he stepped foot into one of the wetwork rooms.
"I don't think this is sanitary." He sighed.
"Where else would we clean ourselves?" Mophead didn't bother to turn back to look at Munroe, washing the filth of their hands with the cold, little amount of running water they had.
"Well, there's one place we could try before this one." Mophead looked over their shoulder, shrugging. Not too impressed with Munroe's tone, nor the bored look on his face.
"Lead the way." They said, turning around to follow Munroe out of the surprisingly empty wetwork room.
They walked a bit, passed a lot of places Mophead hadn't seen before, but the most noticeable change was the change in smell. It went from the usual, stale, irony smell, to the smell of blood, death, and decomposition the closer they got tothe elevators. Following Munroe further, the smells mixed and then faded completely into something new.
"Where are we going?" Mophead couldn't help but ask. Munroe didn't answer immediately, but the lack of soldiers gave Mophead the impression that they shouldn't be here.
"Just be quiet, almost there." Mophead rolled their eyes, just about done with Munroe's secrecy. They planned to speak, but a door met their eyes.
WASHROOM. It read in bright red, neat lettering.
Munroe opened the door, letting himself in before he invited Mophead.
"This used to be reserved for royal guards. Until it collapsed and busted the pipes." Munroe pointed at the shattered wall, concrete blocks littered in pools of water. Porcelain sinks, dirty mirrors above them, and most of all, shower heads.
"Some showers should be usable, I know the sinks are." Mophead closed the door behind them carefully. "Cold water only, though."
Munroe undid his coat, stripping his upper body bare, and Mophead followed. They fiddled with the razor, neatly packaged in thick paper to keep the holder from accidentally cutting their fingers on it.
"Need help with that?" Munroe stared at them through the mirror, curious if he could assist.
"No," Mophead sighed, not liking whatever Munroe thought of them. They didn't need his help. They were fine right now. And they wished he'd stop staring at them. "I can do this."
As soon as the words had left their mouth, they managed to slip the razor into the holder and close it down tightly. Walking to the nearest mirror, next to Munroe. They held the razor close to their face, not sure where to start, but trying their best.
Munroe sighed, reaching to grab the razor from Mophead. They let him, evidently not knowing what they were doing. They sighed, a soft glare in Munroe's direction that turned into a smile, then a laugh.
"Want me to do it for you?" Munroe awkwardly suggested. Holding the razor out for Mophead to grab in case they changed their mind.
"Yeah," They watched as Munroe turned on the tap, waiting for the water to clear up. He washed the razor under it for a second and brought his hand up to Mophead's face. They resisted at first, but remembered why they were here.
"It's sharp, brand new, so I suggest you hold still." Munroe held the skin on their jawline and chin taut before carefully swiping the razor across, taking the stubble off. He washed it again, making sure to turn off the tap this time so as to waste as little water as he could, before doing the same a centimeter further from where he had before.
Mophead's skin felt awfully smooth for that of a soldier. Nor was it scarred and bumpy like Eriche's. Near perfect and pristine.
"I used to help Eriche with shaving," Munroe spoke while his head was turned away from Mophead's face, sight aimed at the sink. He wanted to speak more, talk about everything he and Eriche went through together. The fun, the laughter, the deaths, the loss, the love, the lust, and everything that came with their 'friendship'. It wasn't the time for that. Mophead was Mophead. For now, Munroe thought. Holding onto that sliver of hope that his Eriche was somewhere in there.
Mophead, in turn, didn't think much of the words, only noticing Munroe's expression softening and becoming somber. They knew he missed his friend, but assumed the confession of the familiar act was because of reason. Eriche could be incapacitated, or maybe his scarred face made it difficult for him to do it himself without a mirror, and to prevent further damage to his face, Munroe offered.
They saw it as a kind act, and when it was over, that was all it was in their mind. A kind act, one Munroe seemed to know his way around.
"Thank you," They spoke, watching as Munroe rinsed the razor to get rid of the last of the hairs on it. Quickly moving to shave his own face.
"It's nothing," he lightly spoke. "You should head back before they catch both of us here."
Mophead nodded.
"You remember the way back?" Mophead rolled their eyes but nodded again. "Good, I'll see you there."
They shuffled out, picking their coat back up, not bothering to put it back on before they left.
Munroe couldn't care less about being caught. He needed a moment alone after reliving such a dear memory. Only this time it was a ghost under his fingers. A facade, made just for him. Mophead didn't have to see him like this, and Munroe didn't want them to. All he really wanted was peace of mind in an undying war.