[ John's missed it, the smell of second-hand smoke. He hooks his pinkie in Danny's, glances over. For a moment down this bland corridor walking alongside each other they're mistakeable as equals. There's still so much noise and pressure happening in John's head, but he has a better handle on it than he did. ]

I care.

[ Eternal control freak, wants to control what they see, wants to control his surroundings — he pauses on a step to look Danny in the eye. Nightmare child. Best beloved. John studies the way tears have left his long lashes all spidery. Remembers when he let Danny have him on the ground outside the blacksmiths, remembers standing for him at the moot hall in front of everyone's judgemental gaze, the times he's been violently jealous and the times he hasn't . Decides to explain: ]

They don't deserve to see you like that. To touch any part of you.

[ A brief beat and he adds, less intense, linking their fingers together further. ]

Plus you're gonna fuck me, so it seemed polite.