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Hindley barely showers, after all most of the time he's either too tired or too wasted to do so anyway. He can usually be located a minute away due to the horrid smell of alcohol and dirt.
After he lost everything, he also lost his motivation to do basic tasks. He can't comb his hair, can't take off his clothes whenever he goes to sleep, barely gets out of bed and when he does it's either only to eat or to down a couple of more bottles on the couch downstairs. He's practically a corpse in comparison to the rest of the manor's residents.
At least until he met Frances.
Frances, as expected, was a man built on routine. He preferred doing things his way at his times, and nobody ever dared to disturb him. He showered whenever he believed he was dirty enough; he brushed his hair whenever it became a problem, and he got out of bed usually around six. Now that Frances has attached himself to Hindley, he takes the brit with him in his own routine. He lets Hindley sleep a little longer, sure, but aside from that Frances prefers to keep the man as close as possible.
It seems out of character for a Scotto capo to be so attached to some mentally unstable and drunk gambling addict, but the servants are perfectly fine with the way things are going. Frances seemed to be the only person able to keep Hindley's fits at bay, which kept them all safe from any bottles being thrown at their head and from any more screaming fits.
The day was like any other. Frances had just come back from work, his jacket dripping with leftover fluids from his last given job. He apologized to the servants for the mess and gave one of the maids his jacket. He immediately went upstairs into his and Hindley's shared room to take a shower, before he spotted Hindley still lying in bed. Frances quietly walked up to him and sat on the edge of the bed. He took off his bloody gloves and laid them onto the nightstand to soon be forgotten.
Frances looked at his sleeping husband for a while. Taking note of how tired he seemed even while resting. Hindley's brows were furrowed into a frown, and his breathing was heavy. Maybe he was catching a fever of some sort. Frances reached out and carefully pushed Hindley's bangs up, pressing his scarred hand against the man's forehead. His husband's forehead was wet with sweat and his skin felt hot to the touch. Definetly a fever.
Frances let out a sigh and leaned in to press a kiss to Hindley's cheek before gently shaking his body. “Hindley, dear, wake up.” He quietly spoke; his tone filled with a hint of both concern and affection. Hindley groaned in return, swatting at his Husband's hand with his own before his eyes cracked open and weakly glared at him. When he noticed it wasn't some daring servant but his husband who woke him up, something in his expression softened up a little.
“...Whadd’ya want....” Hindley slurred as he attempted to sit up. Frances smiled at him and helped him settle into the new position, his touch awfully gentle for a man of his caliber. “You have a fever, mio caro. And you stink. S’about time you take another shower, isn't it?” Hindley's cheeks seemed to heat up more than before as he looked away, clearly a little ashamed.
“Don't wanna... Already washed myself last week...” His voice was raspy from misuse and probably also from a sore throat of some sort. Frances let out a soft chuckle as he ran his fingers through Hindley's matted hair once again. “Yes, and I'm proud of you for doing that on your own, but you really must wash up. I'll let you shower with me, if that's what you want. Is that good enough for your fancy tastes?” Frances teased, tilting his head a little further as if he already knew what Hindley's answer was going to be.
Hindley stared at him for a while, before flicking his gaze back to the floor. Muttering a quiet ‘fine...’ under his breath. Frances’ smile widened as he stood up and carefully grabbed Hindley by the shoulder. “Good, come on then. Stand up.”
Hindley stood up onto unsteady legs together with his husband's help, assisting him in standing up and walking towards the bathroom.
The bathroom was a small but well-kept little room, with a bathtub, a sink, and a few other things. The walls were a dull, greyish-brown, and the tiles were cold against Hindley's bare feet.
They both quietly stripped down and once they were naked, Frances tested the water temperature. The entire process of taking off their clothes and stepping into the shower was done in a comfortable silence. After all there was nothing about their bodies both hadn't seen yet.
The two men stood there, soaking up the water together, until Frances reached for the shampoo bottle standing on a rack nearby. He squirted some of the pink soap onto his hand and took a step towards Hindley, pulling him close and gently starting to rub the shampoo into his hair. He knew he was still covered in blood from work, the water that was steadily going down the drain turning into a light red, but that didn't matter to him. His husband went first.
Hindley let out a quiet whimper but didn't move. If anything, he leaned into the touch, his hands coming to rest onto Frances’ scarred shoulders. The Scotto capo's nails scratched lightly against Hindley's scalp, making sure to clean every patch of dirt that had formed over the past few days.
The moment felt much too intimate for them both, but it was a good too much, like the feeling you get when you get to pet a little cat, and it rubs its head against your palm.
When Frances extracted his fingers from his husband's hair, the light brown locks were much cleaner than they were. Frances always loved Hindley, no matter how dirty he was, but he still prefers him like this. Clean, relaxed, and Happy.
Frances repeated the motion with the conditioner, making sure to detangle every single irritating and difficult knot he had. Hindley didn't want to admit it to himself, but he loved being treated like this. He was always used to being yelled at; to be beaten and thrown around like he was some aggressive mutt. Frances, despite being a violent and prideful man at heart, always treated him like he was something precious. Like he was an artwork instead of the mess of a man he was.
When Frances finished up with cleaning him, he cupped his cheek and briefly kissed him. It was a simple peck on the lips, really, but still it made Hindley feel like some smitten schoolgirl. He wasn't sure whether he loved it or hated it. Maybe he just wasn't used to it.
Hindley pressed his body against his husband, embracing him in a way that could almost be seen as desperate.
“...Thank you.” He whispered.
“Of course. I love you.”
That's all that had to be said.