“Will do,” he agreed, apparently on a conservation of words gain as he pulled off the helmet and shook his hair free, leaving it on the top of his un-slept-in bed before heading to the bathroom. Correction. He re-emerged to sidetrack back to the couch, pick up his other clothes from the coffee table, and then retreated to the bathroom as if that had been his intention all along.

The bathroom was still steamy from Declan’s shower. Aoba almost balked right then and there but then pressed on, stripping out of the gear with better ease than he got into it in the first place. Actually getting into the fall of hot water came as a genuine relief, and his following shower wasn’t quite so utilitarian as Declan’s own tended to be. By the time he got out again his body felt better, if not his head or his heart.

He dressed most of the way up again, returning to the kitchen with the helmet in his hands and the gloves inside of it for a makeshift carryall, damp hair loose around his shoulders to dry faster.