every now and then i would catch myself staring down at his tanned hands , those squared-off fingers , just inches from my own , and i would remember how our fingers felt entwined - the warmth of him , the illusion , even in stillness , of a kind of strength - and a lump would rise in my throat until i thought i could barely breathe and i had to retreat to the wc where i would lean over the sink and sob silently under the strip lighting .