There were a multitude of things Nem was afraid of. His mother being one of them. And bugs. Bugs were pretty gross. Which made his hobby of scouring through the mud in search of all kinds of flora rather difficult.

What would Marcus think of him, if he knew all about how ugly and twisted he was inside? That also scared him. No, scrap the also. He was afraid of that more than he was of his mother. He was pretty sure. Maybe. Probably.

And what would happen to Marcus if he didn't mind the thick tar that was inside of Nem, what if he would be okay with that? Didn't he already know how it all would end? Wasn't the whole reason he was so screwed up because he had been through this all before? Marcus didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

Nem knew exactly why he felt so strongly about all of this. But admitting it was way scarier than anything else, it would make it so much more tangible and real, give form to something he only sometimes felt in the pit of his stomach when light hit the other boy a certain way or when he spoke or...

No. Stop thinking about it. He looked at the tan hands he was holding in his own. Just what was he even doing. This is exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't be doing, not for his own sake nor Marcus'. I mean who starts wiping some random's hands down with antiseptic wipes? Wouldn't it have made a lot more sense to give him the wipes instead?

There was that feeling again. It wasn't "someone random". Nothing made sense when it came to that jerk. 

Maybe Nem could continue this a little while. Just a tiny bit.