James exhales slowly. Steve's arms are loose and heavy on his shoulders, not at all like restraints. He reaches for Steve's hand with his and traces his fingers idly across the backs of Steve's knuckles, the names of bones trailing through his mind. He'd liked Steve's hands when he was younger and smaller, too. Maybe he was seeing them through the crush he'd been nursing, but he doesn't think it really makes a difference. He doesn't need to be rational about the things he likes.

"Texting. Who comes up with a word like that?" James murmurs. He tries to keep to saying things like this to Steve, for no reason other than having someone else understand where he's coming from. It also gives him a moment to get his thoughts together again. "I was just saying... I get why you'd ask around about me. It's my own fault. But if you've got to ask, I really -- I need you to ask me. I'm not gonna lie. I just don't know how getting into any of that is gonna do any good."