"Fackin'.. throat. Parched." he grumbled, sitting down grumpily as everyone loaded into the carrier, when you asked him what was wrong. He huffed, and held up his steel flask, which.. unfortunately had a gaping bullethole straight through, the water having trickled out in the crossfire.

You chuckled, sitting down by him, and held out your own bottle to him.

He stared at you blankly, as if shocked. It's not that he minded sharing but.. it touched your lips, and you drank from it before, right? Indirect kiss? Wouldn't be weird if he didn't take it, though? He didn't want to come off as a stubborn germaphobe. But.. if he did take it..? Would you think he was a creep?

All this thinking in his head rolling over a hundred times as your arm's stretched out to him, holding up the bottle, which had a faint stain of vaseline from your lips on the open nozzle.