Kane put out his arms, and Dean gently washed out the scrapes, erasing the drying blood from Kane’s skin. Then he applied some hydrogen peroxide to another cloth and dabbed. “This will sting,” he said too late. Kane didn’t mind. He watched the bubbles fizz under his skin, as though their effervescence was his excitement escaping his body. Then it was Dean’s turn. They sat close, Dean tense as Kane cleaned the scrape on his neck, Kane doing his best despite the distraction of Dean up close. His jaw, the brownness of his skin, and the browner brown of his freckles.

Kane got to count them this time. There were twenty-nine, total.

“We’ll need to change,” Dean said. He left and then returned with two fresh shirts. He began to peel off his bloodied clothes but stopped when he saw Kane’s expression. “Did you want to change in the bedroom?”

Kane blushed. “Oh, no, here’s fine.”

Dean turned away. Dutifully Kane removed his own shirt and thought of something Ursula once had said about Dean being on the swim team. It showed. His body looked meticulously drawn, like an anatomy diagram. It was not because he was especially bulky, nor because he was especially skinny. It was the way his muscles moved beneath his skin; there was such a beauty to them that it was hard to imagine Dean had not been designed with lovely intent.

He saw a cut he’d missed on Dean’s collarbone.

“Wait, come here.”

Shirt halfway on, Dean slid back onto the stool and Kane dabbed at the cut. Yesterday Kane had been trapped within the imaginings of who he and Dean had been to one another, and what they might have done. Now, he was singularly focused on pretending they were perfect strangers. Dean, half-naked, was doing the same.

Dean winced, his hand grabbing the back of Kane’s thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m sorry, too,” Kane said.

“For what?”

“For trying to blow you up.”

“You were scared,” Dean murmured.

Kane nodded.

“Are you scared now?” Dean asked.

Kane thought about this. He thought about the way he held the Others and Dean apart, like they could never be combined. He thought maybe part of losing his memory was letting go of the distrust that defined it. He thought about how Dean had not let go of his thigh.

The sound of Kane’s phone vibrating saved him from answering. Dean slid into his shirt while Kane fumbled with the device.

“It’s Ursula,” Kane said.

“So, aren’t you going to answer it?”

He knew he should be concerned about the Others, but here he was more concerned about ending this moment too early.

Dean took the phone and answered it on speaker. “Hallo?”