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Tom's on his way upstairs towards he and Clay's shared bedroom, but he pauses after swinging the door open. Clay and the Head are talking, and Tom's just about to ask if he's interrupting, when the eldest of the three suddenly lets out a loud exclamation and clutches his side.

Cane waving in the air, the Head grimaces and smiles apologetically at Tom. "Damned heartburn! Excuse me, Tom. Just came up to have a natter before lying down a bit myself."

"Not at all" Tom says, slightly concerned. Once the sound of the Head's cane tapping seems far enough down the hall, he turns to Clay. "Is he ok? He's very pale.

Clay shrugs lightly. "I think he's fine." His brow furrows, and he points at Tom's face. "I thought you were going to shave the rest of that off."

Tom absently reaches up to touch the half of the mustache still left on his face. "I decided against it with Alice hanging around. I like her, but about certain things she can be evil."

Clay shakes his head. "That's just paranoia."

Tom wants to protest, but he doesn't find the words before Tom stalks off towards the bathroom. He follows behind him with mild curiosity when he hears Clay start rummaging around. "What are you doing?" He asks suspiciously, watching Clay sort through whatever had been stored in the cabinet beneath the sink by the previous occupant.

Clay shoves a few things back inside and then shuts the cabinet door, his finds held in his hands. Clay holds up a razor, brand new in the package, for Tom to see. "It won't be as easy going as an electric razor, but it should work well enough."

Tom frowns. "And how do you expect me to do that? There's no mirror." He points to the empty spot on the wall above the sink. When he had first shown them to the room, the Head had explained that it was broken sometime during the chaos when the pulse first hit.
Clay sets down the rest of his supplies, a can of shaving cream and a washcloth grabbed from a rack next to the sink, and motions for Tom to come stand by him in front of the sink. "You get ready, and I'll shave it for you."

Tom looks at Clay, amusement playing across his face. "You're going to shave my face?"

Clay shrugs. "I don't know how longer I can stand looking at that sad excuse for facial hair."

Tom shakes his head in pretend hurt, inwardly smiling at the obvious teasing in Clay's voice. "You're just worried I'll accidentally cut my throat once I get started on my beard, and you'll be stuck without my sparkling conversation.

Clay nods in agreement. "Something like that."

Tom goes through the usual motions, washing his face (at least they have running water still, thankfully) and evenly applying the shaving cream, and then turns back to face Clay. "Lead on then."

Clay gently rests his left hand on Tom's jaw to keep his face steady, and begins carefully working in even strokes. Mustache first, then his jaw and down to his neck, careful not to cut Tom's skin. Once he's done, Clay tosses the razor in the trash, figuring they won't likely be staying here long enough to need it again.
Clay watches as Tom washes his face off in the sink, patting along his jaw to make sure Clay didn't miss any spots. Tom turns around and opens his mouth to say something, but Clay interrupts him before he can speak by cupping his jaw again. This time Clay kisses him briefly before pulling away again, and sauntering out of the bathroom.