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I stared into the bathroom mirror as I carefully rinsed out the washcloth I'd used to clean up Hiroya only moments before, wondering just how I'd gotten myself into the current mess.

I just gave a handjob to a guy in a wheelchair. I'm not sure if I should feel ashamed or accomplished.

I decided to settle for mixed feelings. A minute later and the washcloth was clean enough to satisfy me, and I wrung it out and hung it over the towel bar to dry. If we were lucky, I could toss it into the laundry basket tomorrow before one of the aides came to take away the used towels. And if not... well, it probably wasn't the first time they'd unknowingly handled a towel that had been used for less than pure purposes.

When I returned to the main room, Hiroya had rolled over to the nightstand to study something on its surface. He glanced up as I drew near, a wide grin on his face as he dramatically made a check mark on a sheet of paper. "Ah, one goal down."

"What goal?" I peered around the massive motorized wheelchair to see what he was messing with. It was a clipboard with a few sheets of paper stuck to it. The sheet on top was labeled My Recovery Goals. "Oh, is that the worksheet you filled out with the therapist earlier?"

"Yup." His shit-eating grin made it clear that something was up with the list. He obviously wanted me to read it. Probably full of nonsense meant to rile me up.

Well, there was no harm in indulging his silly behavior, and honestly, I was relieved that he was in a good enough mood to goof around. Many patients sank into self-pity and depression when faced with a long, hard road to recovery. Hiroya had a strong personality, lots of emotional support from his many visitors, and was taking his psychological therapy seriously, but even he had his moments of despair. I couldn't blame him, honestly. It might take years to recover enough to handle the basics of daily life, simple tasks like getting dressed, cooking a meal, going shopping...

But worrying about all that was distracting me from the list. I picked it up, eyebrows rising as I scanned over the bullet points.

• Get a handjob.
• Give a handjob.
• Get a blowjob.
• Give a blowjob.
• Take a shower with my boyfriend.

I stopped reading at that point; I already knew that the rest of the list would be more of the same, a masterpiece of escalating crudeness.

"Hiroya," I sighed, "please tell me you didn't discuss all these things with the therapist. Except I know that's a false hope, because this is a printout, which means someone had to type it into the computer, and you can't type right now."

His shoulders quirked in what passed for a shrug. "Well, I needed help filling it out."

"It's all indecent things." I sank down onto the bed, resisting the urge to hold my head in my hands. "Considering that it's fairly obvious who you had in mind as your partner for these activities... I'm not sure I can show my face around this facility anymore."

"Aww, don't be so dramatic, Jin! It was just the therapist, it's not like there's copies posted up on every bulletin board in the entire place. And anyway," his chair spun around so he could face me, the motion making me think of a supervillian in a comic book movie, "they're not all indecent."

"Yes, they are," I countered, looking down at the clipboard again. The bright red check next to Get a handjob drew my eye as surely as a bleeding cut. Hiroya was so childish...

"You didn't read until the end! Look at the last one."

I skipped over the rest of the 'goals' to the bottom line. Brush my boyfriend's hair. A warm blush crept up my cheeks as the mental image hit me, so strong I could almost feel his fingers tickling through my hair. "That's..."

His smile was soft, his tone warm and serious. "I can't wait for that one, Jin."

~ end ~