[He fiddles with his shirt in his hands, bundling it up before dropping it into the tub if only for something to do and pay attention to. But naturally his attention flickers back to Keith when he tugs his shirt off-- and his gaze lingers, too, even though he feels immediately guilty for it. Don't ogle your friend, you creep... /is suddenly painfully aware of how much muscle Keith's put on, welp.]
[... Aaaaand descends swiftly and fully into gay panic. Geez, this is so not the time or situation to be like this. Having the shirt off is more comfortable and less sticky, at least, but-- he glances back over at Keith again to find Keith already looking at him, which kind of short-circuits his brain.]
Oh-- [erm.] Sorry, I know the scars... are, uh. I know there's a lot of them. [Of course, his dumb brain manages to straightsplain it. Keith's always worried about him, of course his scars would bother him!!!1 The (obvious) alternative isn't even possible, really. No homo, best bro and bff.]