worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

"Yeah, I guess I do," he admits, not quite flushing (but only barely). It's not really something he ever meant to do, exactly. It's just the type of shirts they'd first given him in the future, and he'd assumed that's how things were supposed to fit.

Eventually, after a couple of years on the Barge, he'd ended up defaulting to too-big hoodies, several of which he still has. But the shirts that go underneath them, or the ones he wears to run or climb or sleep in, are still on the smaller side.

"Not that I don't like you looking," he adds. He doesn't mind if it B looks. It's sort of along the same lines as feeling like he needs to show off, sometimes. He wants B to like what he's got.

He doesn't want everyone else to stare, but B is okay.

Edited 2023-11-13 03:36 (UTC)

B basically lives in oversized hoodies with various other shirts underneath, he'd understand. He might have even stolen one or two of Steve's without really realizing it.

"I hope not. I mean, I'd stop if you asked," B adds. "Or at least be more subtle about it." He's not exactly blatant about it, as it is, though. That's half habit and half deference to Steve's clear discomfort with being oogled.

Steve huffs a little; he's still embarrassed, but it's hard to be too embarrassed when clearly he also wants to be something B looks at. Even if it's not like he earned it, and he's still at least partly never sure what to do with it.

"No, you can keep looking," he admits. B isn't blatant, which helps. But Steve's also going to keep being that guy who needs to at least be in a shirt and shorts to sleep, or once it's been long enough after sex. B likes wearing socks; Steve likes wearing a shirt. Even when, apparently, they don't leave much to the imagination. "Honestly, half the time all my clothes still look like they're the wrong size, in my head."

B gets it. Being covered up is better, most of the time. Hence, after all, the multiple layers of shirts and socks. His expression goes a little softer at the admission, though, and he nods a little. "Even after all this time, huh?"

And Steve's expression just goes a little more embarrassed. "Yeah, it's - "

Well. It's a lot of things. Weird, dumb, silly.

"Worst right after I dream like I'm still small, maybe," he finally decides to actually say, which similarly feels like admitting something that doesn't need admitting, but is probably better than saying something bad about himself and making B make the faces he makes at that kind of thing. It's true, at least.

That's not something bad about yourself. It's the truth of your feelings, buddy. B can guess, though, either way. Whenever Steve hesitates like that, it's for some reason like that.

He regards him thoughtfully for a moment, then asks, "If you could give it up. Would you? I mean, would you be happier being small again?"

That gets a long, uncomfortable pause, at the end of which, all he can really say is, "I don't... know?"

It's complicated. Made even more so by the fact that he isn't sure about the answer. He's been maybe a little less itchy to tear things up, sure, but even so, "I'm not exactly doing much with it." At the moment, anymore, take your pick.

He does clearly feel guilty about that, if nothing else.

"You've done plenty with it," B comments. "I think if there was supposed to be a price on your strength, you've paid for it a few times over by now. Just because you don't need it to punch things here, don't mean it's gotta be taken away."

He shifts to wrap his arm through Steve's, curling through the crook of his elbow. "Though for the record, I figure if you don't want to keep it, you shouldn't have to, either. I want you to be happy, Steve."

"I don't - "

Well, there are a couple of ways that sentence could go, from I don't know if I get to be happy long-term to I don't know what will make me happy. He isn't sure he wants to admit either out loud, any more than he's really convinced that he's paid what he owes for this body.

But all the same, after a minute, he admits, "It's not that I don't want to keep it." Because that's also true, he thinks. This is better than being sick all the time. This is better than not being able to do anything if people need help. He can't deny that much is true.

Besides, if he's got even a chance at happiness... he doesn't want it to end because he catches the space flu and dies the second they leave the Barge. Because that would just figure, wouldn't it.

"No, it's - I should keep it," he decides, quietly. He can just feel guilty over it, after all.

Well, that would be a bit of a worry. But B would probably be able to handle it in this fancy future society. It's not really worth arguing about, though. He just tilts his head a little to bonk gently against Steve's, still arm in arm. "So long as it's what you want. I'm not gonna complain either way."

That little head bonk makes his lips twitch, like his face wants to smile despite itself. "I know," he says, and it's quiet, but fond. He has managed to absorb the fact that B, for whatever reason, really wouldn't mind. It still doesn't mean he doesn't want to give B the better version of himself, if he can. He doesn't want to be the guy who gets sick all the time. Who can't help out. He hated that. He'd rather feel guilty and undeserving for a body that can at least pull its own weight.

And he does like being big and strong and healthy. It's selfish, but he does. Of course he does.

"But this way I can keep up with you." At least half a dumb joke, but a little bit the truth, too.

"As if I'm not the one who was always chasing after you, when you were little," B says fondly, himself. But he lets it be, now. He's said his piece, made Steve think about it a little, and gotten his answer. "You feeling a little better now?" he asks, meaning the whole wardens situation.

"You had the stamina for it," Steve says, tone nonchalant but the truth is, he feels anything but.

His mouth twitches into something like a smile at the question; it's not entirely convincing, but it's trying, and when he admits, "A little," it's the truth.

"Thanks," he adds, because if B weren't here, he'd still be wallowing. And there would possibly be several more loaves of bread. As it is, "I think the bread's cool enough to eat. If you still want some."

"If I ever don't want something you baked, either I've just had too much already, or there's something wrong with me," B assures him. "Let's have some of that bread."

That gets a soft huff of a laugh, but Steve nods, then steps away to go cut up some of that bread and pull out the butter to go with it.

The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

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fade this one out?

sounds perfect!