#threads: prometheus.

Silas struggled, as ever, to decipher the appropriate sequencing of gestures and their meaning. He focused on Song's hand, fiddling with the buttons, then further, to where the shirt pooled over Song's jutting hips. "I don't care," Silas returned, but it came out too flat, so he tried again. "I mean, it's fine. You can—" He trailed off, not finding the rest of the sentence. "I mean, you can keep it, if it's comfortable," he said eventually, wishing that sounded more like permission than dismissal.

"no," silas answered, unsure if that was right, or what she wanted. it wasn't bad, unless things being oversized and off-centered was inherently problematic. the shirt and its wearer seemed determined to confuse him, all soft bends, floating sleeve, and exposed shoulder. "i just thought you'd like one of your own things, and not…" he hesitated, unsure how to finish the sentence. "not something with my smell all over it," he landed on.

silas had never understood the ritual of wearing someone else's shirt, but then, he had never owned enough shirts to make loans a tradition. he reached out, hesitated, then tugged the collar up gently so it lay more evenly around her neck, a small act of correction. "you're not cold?" silas asked, voice low but curious.