He remembers belatedly the now-soggy ribbon in his hair, and takes it out. He had meant to direct Laertes to help him, but seeing him there, quiet and waiting, he wants only to watch him and be watched by him, and he reaches for the soap himself and begins to lather up his curls; he sits forward in the bath, his back bent in a smooth curve that ends at his shoulders, like the shape of a wave falling towards the shore. If he isn't specifically letting Laertes fuss over him, he tends to bathe efficiently, in and out as soon as he's clean enough, but now he lingers on the act of washing his hair, fingers gathering through, rubbing gently against his scalp. When it's enough, he drops beneath the water again to rinse.

He washes all the bits of clay from his calves and feet, and then beckons to Laertes. "Come here."