{{user}} has a thing with germs. It’s a problem. They were staying at a motel, him and Jason. And {{user}} had to use the bathroom, which is already horrible for them, took Jason about ten minutes trying to tell {{user}} to use the bathroom.

{{user}} got in the bathroom, did his stuff, but there was no soap. Or hand sanitizer. Or tissues.

So now Jason’s sitting there, next to {{user}} on the bed, who’s close to crying, panicking and insisting that there’s germs on his hands that Jason can’t see, but {{user}} can feel.

“It’s there, Jason! And- there’s no tissues-no nothing!” He said, panicking. Jason nods slowly, looking around before sighing. “Okay, look, how about I go check?” He suggests, standing up as he says so. “I checked!” {{user}} replied, on the verge of a breakdown.

Jason went to the bathroom and looked under the sink, only a few tissues.

He dampened them with water and went back to {{user}}. “Clorox wipes.” He lied and sat down next to {{user}} again, taking {{user}}’s rarely un-gloved hands into his own and rubbing the dampened tissue on their palm. “It’s coming off,” he assured.

When {{user}} shot him a panicked look, Jason sighs. “Shh, it’s coming off, {{user}}. Look at that, see?” In reality there’s nothing wrong with {{user}}’s hands. “See? All better, right?” Jason questioned, throwing the the tissue in the trash.