The apartment building's repairman glances from Don's short-cropped hair to the clogged shower drain with a knowing grin. "Girlfriend?"
Charlie singing tunelessly in his shower while Don shaved, and Don joining in on the chorus, unable to keep a smile off his face even after he cut himself.
Charlie yelling over the sound of the water that Don was out of conditioner, and Don yelling back that he didn't even use conditioner so he couldn't possibly be out of it, and Charlie saying, "Hey, if you don't want me to shower here..." The next time Charlie took a shower at Don's there were six bottles of conditioner lined up on the ledge, and Charlie laughed and put five away.
Charlie coming in cold and soaked and shivering too hard to talk, one night when he was upset about something Don never did quite figure out and decided to bike to Don's apartment in the middle of a winter rainstorm. Don got his wet clothes off him and bundled him into the shower and stood there with him until the steam filled the room. After a while the hot water melted Charlie's body against Don's, his face against Don's shoulder and his body loose and heavy in Don's arms.
Charlie kneeling at Don's feet while the water pounded down over both of them, Don's hands sinking into Charlie's hair and clenching irresistibly into fists as he jerked and came in Charlie's mouth. Charlie swallowing around him, hot as the water started going cold, Charlie's hands on his shaking thighs. There were strands of Charlie's hair on Don's hands when he finally let go, and he whispered, "Sorry, sorry," but Charlie grinned and stood and kissed him, hot and bitter-salty. Charlie said, "Hey, it's okay, I started it," and kept kissing him until the water had washed Don's hands clean and Don was grinning back.
"Yeah," Don says, flashing a short, uninformative smile. "Girlfriend."