"Oh." That hadn't occured to him--that Bodhi might have something of an agenda, that it would include taking off his clothes. It doesn't quite burn him up, except that it is Bodhi, it is--he's different, from everyone before. In his way, he puts Jude where he wants him, and he scrapes that beard over his throat, and he talks about life like a thing he's really lived. He talks about school like a thing behind him. Everything's behind them, here, but Bodhi's seen more of it. He's seen other galaxies.

Maybe the things Jude has seen won't even rank. Maybe the things he's done won't either.

It doesn't feel like a bad thing, even as he tries to navigate--this. Trying to navigate it involves a lot of sitting, stupid, color cutting all of his curves and angles under the fire's glow. He looks at Bodhi, then looks down--not to look at his shirt sweeping down his front in its wrinkled folds, just to look down. His hands have loosened their holds, and he absently pets the hair back into place at the back of Bodhi's head. He never meant to pull.

"Whenever you want, you can--I'd rather you do it."