He counted his blessings when they managed to get into his apartment without running into any of the neighbors; the last thing he needed was to have to explain Emery's presence right now, especially right in front of the man himself.
Under the bathroom's fluorescent lights Emery's sickly pallor was much more evident, the dark bags under his eyes impossibly deep; an ugly yellow bruise was forming on his cheekbone, below the clotted blood on his brow. Josh would much rather have gotten some food into Emery first, but he knew the other man was desperate to be rid of the lice, and that he'd welcome being clean at last before even considering food.
He wasted no time getting out the tools he thought they'd need: a plastic stool for Emery to sit on, a pair of scissors, a razor blade, shaving cream— Emery sighed audibly and scratched his beard again, his disappointment evident in way his shoulders slumped. "You don't have a shaver."
"I prefer to use a razor — is that a problem?"
Emery lifted his right arm. The shaking Josh had attributed to anger or nervousness was still there, not too pronounced but definitely present. There was no way he could use a razor without cutting himself multiple times, and getting some of the grime from his beard or hair into open wounds, no matter how small, was something to avoid at all costs. Josh exhaled, preparing for the next argument.
"It's too late to go out and buy one now or I would. I can shave you if you'll let me." Emery was already shaking his head so Josh continued, not giving him a chance to protest, "Listen, whatever you're going to say, it's not as if I've never shaved someone else before. I've had clients who wouldn't let anyone else do it. Please trust me when I say I won't cut you."
"Trust you?" Emery turned incredulous eyes at him. "What part of 'I have lice' are you having trouble understanding?"
Josh opened a drawer, taking out an elastic band and a shower cap and putting both on in rapid succession. "There. Problem solved."
"You look ridiculous in that thing."
It was so Emery, the haughty comment, that Josh couldn't help but snort. Any reprieve from having to witness the other man's deep humiliation was more than welcome, even if it was somewhat at his own expense. "Nonsense. I look dashing in my unassailable anti-lice fortress." Emery laughed amid coughs; it was good to see him laugh after everything the past years had thrown at him. After a few moments, Josh's tone turned serious. "Please let me shave you?"
Emery nodded, eyes inscrutable. "Very well. Yes. Please. Start with the hair."
---
Josh was fairly certain that shaving was not, under any circumstances, supposed to be a heartbreaking experience. He'd started with the hair, as Emery had requested, and it seemed to be going fine. Emery's breath had hitched occasionally, but Josh had thought nothing of it.
Then he'd moved on to the beard.
He hadn't noticed it at first, how Emery's quiet gasps, the occasional shudder, were directly linked to the times Josh needed to touch his skin with his fingertips but, once he became aware of it, it was impossible to miss. His first instinct had been to think Emery was averse to being touched, at least by him; he was about to issue an apology and go put on a pair of surgical gloves when he realized the other man was unconsciously angling his head closer to the touch.
Although not the most tactile of men, Emery had always had a steady stream of physical contact during the time Josh knew him. With that bastard, Roger, there'd been handshakes and back claps and shoulder pats. With Josh himself, right until the night Emery had said the unforgivable, there'd been plenty of casual contact. And then there'd been Emma, with her tight hugs and combing her fingers through Emery's hair when he was particularly tense — even, notably, when she'd been delivering a scathing review of the man's time management skills. He'd never seen Emery so unwound as he'd been during those moments, brown eyes lit by a smile as his shoulders relaxed.
Had no one touched him at all since the trial, except for whoever had likely punched him?
Josh laid his entire palm flat on the side of Emery's face he'd already shaved, ostensibly to better angle the razor in his other hand. It was the lightest of pressures, barely there, just enough to confirm his theory. He made sure to rinse the razor to give the other man ample space and time to move away. Emery almost burrowed his face in Josh's palm.
Touch-starved.
Emery was completely touch-starved; all Josh wanted to do at that point was hug him, but the other man would see it as pity, and he didn't need to feel pitied on top of everything else. Human beings weren't built to go without skin to skin contact; Josh would find a way to offer him the positive touches he needed without making it obvious.
Tomorrow. Tonight he could afford to be obvious — Emery was in no condition to notice how shaving the rest of his beard suddenly required more of Josh's hand on his face, or how Josh needed to brush a thumb below his eye, to ensure it was neatly done. He didn't dare repeat the process over the bruise — the last thing he needed was to cause even the barest hint of pain.
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