Hans Larsson

Rekker wasn't using the towel for his body either, but for his hair to get some of the water out of it. By the time the Swede came out Rekker had pulled the cover off and was just stepping down into the water after turning on the jets.

"No." Rekker sniped at the singer. "I'm going to sit in here and banish you to the chairs to suffer."

He's barely able to keep from laughing because his sole intent was to get Bjorn to bitch more. Then the bitch or a singer is pulling his hair again. It gets his attention but as his meds mellow his mood and the panic subsides so do so many of the internal distractions. Sure, he's still nervous about a new lover, worried about what he's doing, but at least the feelings of wanting to literally run are fading.

It leaves the Brit staring and admiring the boyish femininity of his guest. Eventually he turns away to sit along the edge, sighing at the feeling of the warm water further helping the tension fade. Rekker is openly curious about where Bjorn is going to sit.