[ despite himself, it's a struggle for him to control his own expression as magnus bursts into laughter, but he manages it with his usual force of will. instead, then, he simply lifts his brows, cool as a cucumber. (maybe there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth. just a little one.)
he bounces his foot a little beneath the pressure of magnus's hand, then, surprising himself both with how comfortable he is with the contact and with how aware of it he is. he pays attention to magnus, of course, but this is.. different. ]
I'm just grossly affirming and supportive, please respect my life choices.
Now I have to respect your respect? Where does it end, in this liberal age...?
[Magnus manages to stop snickering, drops the hand from his (still pink) face, to brace on the ground. he's not nearly as fast at dropping the other hand, and in fact -- gives Alex's ankle a gentle squeeze. maybe it's a thank you, or a press of affection, or maybe all those times getting his hand chopped off have led to some post-mortem nerve damage. whatever the reason, there's a soft press of his lifelines against boyish anklebones, and then he drops his hand, shifting away and up to his bare feet]
We're all a bunch of hippie tree-huggers, I guess.
[ the touch lingers against his ankle even after magnus has removed his hand, leaving alex feeling inexplicably self-conscious about it. it amazes him at times that magnus can ever doubt himself, when he's so-- warm, accepting, good. (like sunshine.)
the suggestion earns a small noise, though, and alex too rolls out of his chair and to his feet, stretching, going up on his toes briefly. ]
Yeah, guess you're right. --If you'll clean up after, I'll fix any of your clothes that need a button or a hole sewn up.
My stuff's not nice like yours, it's not really worth your time.
[there's probably not a single item Magnus owns, that doesn't have at least some sort of hole or pull or rip in it; the jeans he's wearing today have his entire knees gaping out, but between his lack of fashion sense and homeostatic body temperature, ripped clothing has never been a huge concern of his. he catches himself watching Alex stretch, and looks away, actually grabbing the tools to light the fire]
It's cool you know how to do that stuff. But I don't mind, and I actually like cleaning up more than cooking. [he makes a dubious face, confessing, as he sets about lighting the fire] My diet was like... 70% pizza before you got here? 75%? I never even took Home Ec in middle school. I did the Engineering class where you just play computer games the whole time while you're supposed to be making models of bridges, or whatever that class actually was.
[the fire lights, and Magnus shifts their grill over it. he's feeling a lot better, that pressure in his chest all but gone; maybe they're good at moving on (they are moved on), but probably it's Alex, who settles him so completely. even if he doubts himself, he never doubts Alex, anymore]
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he bounces his foot a little beneath the pressure of magnus's hand, then, surprising himself both with how comfortable he is with the contact and with how aware of it he is. he pays attention to magnus, of course, but this is.. different. ]
I'm just grossly affirming and supportive, please respect my life choices.
no subject
[Magnus manages to stop snickering, drops the hand from his (still pink) face, to brace on the ground. he's not nearly as fast at dropping the other hand, and in fact -- gives Alex's ankle a gentle squeeze. maybe it's a thank you, or a press of affection, or maybe all those times getting his hand chopped off have led to some post-mortem nerve damage. whatever the reason, there's a soft press of his lifelines against boyish anklebones, and then he drops his hand, shifting away and up to his bare feet]
Um, we should get started on dinner...
no subject
[ the touch lingers against his ankle even after magnus has removed his hand, leaving alex feeling inexplicably self-conscious about it. it amazes him at times that magnus can ever doubt himself, when he's so-- warm, accepting, good. (like sunshine.)
the suggestion earns a small noise, though, and alex too rolls out of his chair and to his feet, stretching, going up on his toes briefly. ]
Yeah, guess you're right. --If you'll clean up after, I'll fix any of your clothes that need a button or a hole sewn up.
no subject
[there's probably not a single item Magnus owns, that doesn't have at least some sort of hole or pull or rip in it; the jeans he's wearing today have his entire knees gaping out, but between his lack of fashion sense and homeostatic body temperature, ripped clothing has never been a huge concern of his. he catches himself watching Alex stretch, and looks away, actually grabbing the tools to light the fire]
It's cool you know how to do that stuff. But I don't mind, and I actually like cleaning up more than cooking. [he makes a dubious face, confessing, as he sets about lighting the fire] My diet was like... 70% pizza before you got here? 75%? I never even took Home Ec in middle school. I did the Engineering class where you just play computer games the whole time while you're supposed to be making models of bridges, or whatever that class actually was.
[the fire lights, and Magnus shifts their grill over it. he's feeling a lot better, that pressure in his chest all but gone; maybe they're good at moving on (they are moved on), but probably it's Alex, who settles him so completely. even if he doubts himself, he never doubts Alex, anymore]