Danny was always moving. Something Steve never took for granted before now, but something he takes even less for granted now. He, actually, has to wonder if the fortitude of his training actually made that easier to bear, especially among the times when it seemed odd. When it is everywhere. Attracting the attention of every minute.

Overly familiar was the wrong word. He didn't think Danny had any idea how not to be like this, and if anything he was rather familiar with Steve, with touching him occasionally. Which was a far cry from occasional here. It was all the time here. Even asleep. But especially nearby, after, when waking, even more so on weekend mornings.

It's different. Not often to 'irritable,' but different from the rest of his life. Both outside these doors and outside theses years. When Steve can turn his head, stretching a little, on instant reaction, toward the hand on his arm, the arm shifting around his back to set fingers everywhere else. List a little toward the fingers in his hair.

Let the words fall as they will. Danny's never been shy about his opinion of Steve's head. What he's doing with. What he must keep in it. That its a terrible place, and one Danny has to keep in line. Steve doesn't exactly disagree. But it doesn't mean enthusiastic agreement goes there. Sometimes it easier to feign touch-drunk in his head, rather than even to consider it.

He settle for raising his head, flipping his hand on Danny's shoulder off, so his elbow rests into the mattress beside it. Lifting the hand to curve, framing on side of his own jaw. Weight resting down his palm and wrist to that elbow. Speculatively both switching without answering, like whatever it was hadn't required one, and still asking for asking, "Sleep?"

Even if it would require moving, getting to less of a mess, handling blankets. Moving. At all.