Everything's winding down, lead in his eyelids, sand gritting up his eyes, every breath getting slower, deeper. There's more to think about, there's more to wonder, there's a whole world of potential panic to trip and fall into, but it all seems pretty far away, right now.

He's pretty sure Steve wouldn't be watching him like he still is, if there were actually something to worry about. If he's disappointed, somehow. If there's something to second-guess.

Who knows? He's not up to analysis right now, when Steve's rubbing his face into the pillow like an oversized cat, face loose and tired, making something stupid and clumsy like affection well into his chest, like blood from a papercut. "Yeah, I will."

He nudges forward, eyes heavy-lidded, butts Steve's forehead gently with his own. "Now will you go to sleep, or did you have more you wanted to discuss? Like maybe you want my opinion on the niceties of due process?"

Bluffing. Blustering. Voice going low and grumbly, sleep-thick and aggravated, while his thumb starts dragging slow, deep circles in the skin of Steve's back. Not quite moving to work out knots, not hard or heavy enough to keep either of them awake.

Just around. Around. Pressing into relaxed muscle. Heartbeat against his palm, settling his head back on the pillow, eyes sliding shut once, blinked blearily open; twice.

Maybe it's okay. Maybe it really is. Maybe he really is. Like Steve said. Like he did. Maybe being new and slow and not really someone who does great with change isn't a death knell, won't ruin everything. He's willing to try, okay? He said so, and meant it. Because he's willing to try so much else, to do whatever it takes. Fight for it. This. Steve. Like he said outside. Sink his teeth into it and refuse to let go. Let it drag him so far out to sea there's no coming back from it.

Just so long as Steve's there, too, he doesn't mind.