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lose my footing and fall

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Phil sat back on his heels, his hands clasped behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to look down. There was nowhere else he wanted to be on Earth; there were other worlds, and he didn't want to be there either. He wanted to be right here, looking up at Steve, nothing else. Steve looked like a giant, but then, he'd always been a giant to Phil, larger than life, untouchable. Steve looked like an angel, the lamplight giving him a halo, broken by his hair, usually so perfect, slightly mussed now but still beautiful. Phil felt like he should fall on his face, prove how much he needed Steve in this moment, how much he needed him in every moment. Still he looked up, transfixed, unwilling to move.

Steve carded his warm, strong fingers through Phil's hair. "Are you with me?" he said softly.

"Yessir," Phil said, though he sounded a little fuzzy to his own ears. He didn't even understand a question like that, not when he couldn't possibly be more with Steve at a time like this. There was nothing but Steve; there had never been anything but Steve; there might not ever be anything but Steve.

"I need you to stay with me," Steve said. Phil nodded, still not understanding, but if it made Steve feel good, then Phil wanted him to say it as much as he liked. "I think you need to lie down," he said, holding out a hand, and Phil took it. He winced slightly, despite how good he felt; he'd been kneeling for a long time, and a pillow only did so much. "Are you okay?"

"Yessir," Phil said, as Steve led him into the bedroom. He sat Phil down on the bed, making him lie back on the pillows. He lay down beside him, holding Phil to him. It felt strange, Steve's clothes against his naked skin, only made him feel that much more removed, that much more like some great thing that Phil couldn't quite match.

"You're freezing," Steve said, rubbing Phil's arm, and Phil could hear his worried frown.

"'m fine, sir," Phil protested. "Don't worry about me."

Someone else would have laughed, but Steve didn't. He sat up, stripping off his shirt before snagging the blanket at the end of the bed. He pulled Phil to him, tucking the blanket in around both of them. "Worrying's my job," Steve told him. "Let me do it."

"Yessir," Phil said, closing his eyes. There was nothing to worry about, couldn't be anything to worry about. Steve had him, and there was nothing else.

Phil had the distant knowledge that it would be different. At some point, things would change. There was a life outside this room, even if Phil couldn't clearly remember what it consisted of right now. He would leave this feeling, lose this place, and then he'd be the one who had to worry. He'd be the one who had to care, care about everything. Steve would let him go, and Phil would have to let him do it.

Phil dared to pull Steve closer to him, letting Steve envelop him. Phil was known to be stubborn. He wasn't giving up yet, not even close.