The laugh is like meeting halfway, at least for the purpose they need, but it's met with a quiet startled little inhalation that would seem to defeat the purpose here. Danse is supposed to be the one offering the breath, and it's all supposed to be quick and simple and functional and then they can get back to the mission he's already half forgotten in the space of ten seconds.

Amazing, how ten seconds is all it takes to override the ten years he's done absolutely fine without any of this--without kissing, without feeling anyone else's hands on his bare shoulders when antiseptic and bandages weren't involved, without missing it or wanting it or needing it.

He still doesn't. He tells himself these things. He lets it go for the space of a few quiet shared breaths, not needing to blow the air deliberately when it's already an effortless exchange--not needing to clench his fingers in Deacon's wet shirt under the water, either, when he's already steady enough, but doing that anyway. It steadies him, when he comes to his senses again and jerks back.