John had done what he'd done after that attack not because he was braver than Harlow, or even necessarily more unflinching. He'd scoured the burning building the way he had because to him there was nothing, nothing worse than not knowing. He could face seeing because seeing meant not wondering. If he'd left that building with a single corner unsearched, it would always be there in the back of his mind. He hated that feeling more than anything, and knew it well.
When Harlow touched John he found his hand as taut, as full as every movement he made, and he found it nearly painful to withstand that touch. He'd just never thought, not even for one instant, that Harlow could be anything other than a rotting, walking corpse, and he wasn't prepared to feel like Harlow made him feel.
And then it was over and John took one step back while Harlow did, whole body braced and waiting as ever. He regarded the phone bemusedly when Harlow produced it, and then lifted his eyes when he explained. "How disappointing," he said, about the porn, and it was almost a joke which Harlow knew was significant.