Large hands will settle on narrow hips, thinking they are invisible to watchful eyes. Rough palms will smooth over buttery silk and even smoother skin, eliciting gasps and wriggles that will bring forth unbidden sense-memory. He will cringe, unable to stop watching them from the shadows. He will still have a campaign trail to blaze and a future to instil, but he will always have time for Peter because Peter is his.
The young man will nearly cry out as he clutches at the invisible man's trenchcoat, ecstasy etched in his sharp features. Nathan's fingers will itch to touch, biting back a moan of frustration as the bearded man will phase in and out of visibility—leaving his brother on display and so inviting. His body will remember what that warmth felt like, and it will be torture.
The scene before him will go dim, the two men becoming mere shadows on the wall; strewn clothing on the ground. The black slip-of-a-dress will mock him coldly, causing him to ball his fists at his side. He will be happy for Peter because Peter would be happy for him. He will compose himself and walk away calmly.
Him and Peter had been brothers, were brothers, are brothers, and would always be brothers. Nathan could not afford to lose that; he cannot; he will not.