It is so strange, to easily see so much of Cole's face, without any shadows from that hat, without his hair obscuring his eyes. Ben can actually see the color of them, the shape of Cole's brow and forehead. To Cole, his outside may not matter a great deal. But for someone without Cole's abilities, being able to see his face makes the emotions there all the clearer. And of course, he does not see Cole's face with detached objectivity. It's a face he's seen before - obscured, yes, but seen it - and that he has come to associate with feelings of happiness and friendship and acceptance and support. There are reasons emotional and neurochemical, as well, that seeing Cole's familiar face makes Ben full to bursting with happiness.

"Maybe not always, but yeah, most of the time they are."

He thinks, deliberately this time, of how relieved he'd always felt, being able to scrub himself down after a mission, or washing his hair in the evening after a miserable day. To him, bathing was the opposite of Cole's experience. It was a rare moment of privacy, of physical comfort and indulgence, of being allowed to make decisions for himself, take care of himself.

"It's not a waste, here. There's plenty of water - here and in any of the residential rooms with a shower."

This isn't like the ice cream, where Cole could theoretically be depriving someone else, but letting himself experience something nice. Ben wants to make sure he understands that.

And when Cold shakes water from his hair and giggles like that, Ben feels a dazzling rush of fondness. It's utterly contagious, and he laughs, too, bringing his arms up to block any of those oncoming droplets from hitting his face. Then, a childish impulse seizes him, and he arcs his arm, dragging his hand through the surface of the water at an angle and sending a huge splash of water in Cole's direction. Goading Cole into splashing him back - no competitiveness or hostility to it, just a game, something silly and frivolous.