TK’s always full of energy, more than enough for the both of them, but he’s not usually this nervous before a game. Nolan’s got him boxed in against the window, figured he’d do better with Nolan pressed against him to ground him than left to his own devices.
His leg doesn’t stop jiggling as he stares out the window.
He looks at him, finally, but can’t hold eye contact for long before his gaze is pulled back to the window, hand twitching and jerking around in his lap. Nolan catches it and yanks, makes him look at him.
“You’re driving me fucking nuts.”
He makes a weird, choked-off sound, and Nolan gets it.
“Hey,” he says, low. “You’re okay.”