If he knew what the other was thinking, he'd have agreed. For the first time since the military does he feel this connection. This... rightness. He never had it, after he left.
He can't help being angry he's been forced into this. But at the same time, the rightness of it all is reassuring. Something to fall back on. A nod of his own, as he straightens. Joints pop, but he ignores them.
He waits, arching a scarred brow. The look turning slowly to shock as everything shifts. He mutters something to himself, before stepping over, and taking the other man's hand in his, examining it. There's nothing intimate or romantic in the gesture. He's just checking it over.
When he's finally satisfied, after he's run his fingers over the arm, over fingers and apparent tendons, he lets it go, nodding.
no subject
He can't help being angry he's been forced into this. But at the same time, the rightness of it all is reassuring. Something to fall back on. A nod of his own, as he straightens. Joints pop, but he ignores them.
He waits, arching a scarred brow. The look turning slowly to shock as everything shifts. He mutters something to himself, before stepping over, and taking the other man's hand in his, examining it. There's nothing intimate or romantic in the gesture. He's just checking it over.
When he's finally satisfied, after he's run his fingers over the arm, over fingers and apparent tendons, he lets it go, nodding.
"Right then. Let's go."