YEAH, THAT'S A NO

the truest steve play i have ever made

steve forces the quirk of a grin as he returns gaze to quentin’s--he doesn’t exactly have supreme confidence in his suicide mission, but maybe he can convince dreamwalker. “...and you’re not looking so hot. just--let me handle it, okay?” mind echoes david; do your job. and this was the only job worth doing. “let me have your back, this time.”

he finds quentin crunched in on himself, concentrated with his work, but with a lilt of amusement in his tone as he acknowledges jock’s presence. taking advantage of the fact quentin hadn’t looked up just yet, he drapes arms over the other’s shoulders, sits chin on messy hair, and peers down at the medkit in the other’s hands. dreamwalker’s work; tools and bottled agents ready to be organized for later use in trial--bits and pieces he had little confidence in handling himself. “looks complicated,” he hums, after a long moment. “you want help?” he asks, and it’s genuine-- lack of skills irrelevant; “...or you wanna do something less lame than this to celebrate?”

when the the killer says gg fun game but ran pop+ruin+thana+sloppy and kept teleporting on everyone 

his mind catches up to the situation that had just unfolded; the confidence with which the biker had tripped up their aggressor and cut him loose. “you were like, really cool back there. you weren’t scared of that asshole at all.” grin, crooked and good-natured; “seriously. keep it up, they hate that.”