You’re overreacting, she wants to say in defense of the onslaught of reactions the twink in a towel is throwing at her. Her eyes flicker to the water genasi sat next to her and decides against saying anything.

She found Coda and his maddening desire to be a complicated cryptic asshole, with an inclination (SLIGHT inclination) to be very, very sweet, increasingly frustrating. She takes a moment to turn the nozzle and douse herself in cold water; it was going to be a long day. 

Clementine tip toed around that cabin in a slim white towel in search of some clean clothes. As she pads around the barren safe house, an herby smell infiltrates her nostrils. She would give nothing more than to opt out of consciousness for a while! She would love join him, pretend like nothing’s wrong, maybe make a suggestive touch and watch him turn that pretty shade of blue she always likes. Clem lingers on this thought for a moment, reminding herself that things are totally different and maybe walking out in a towel would be in poor taste.

Right, clothes. She finds a sunny hawaiian shirt and takes a deep breath. It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?