Taking it easy is something Christian Kane simply does not know how to do. He loves, lives, hard. That's Chris. Can't do it any other way. Not that Steve would want him to. There is a purpose to everything. The particular purpose in any given situation may not make rational sense to most, but to Chris it always will. Always. Although sometimes Steve wonders what the hell Chris is thinking when he's thinking it. The guy has a twisted mindset when it comes to things like romantic relationships, sex, fighting, friendship, et cetera. Steve knows, and accepts this, but he doesn't have to like it.
Unlike Chris, Steve does know how to take it easy. He lives his life like a musical. Well, for him it is a musical. A rock opera or a live jazz club show. Depending on his mood the melody changes. He's okay with that. With change. Inevitability is the name of the game so he goes with the flow. Which is why he and Chris are such opposites, and why they complement each other so well. Why they need each other as much as they need air.
Like when they write music together. Steve sits in his house on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, guitar by his side. Chris sits on the floor near him, legs stretched out, his ever-present two fingers of single malt Scotch and ice in a 'What Happens In Vegas…' mug. Sheet music is scattered between them, pens clicking against their teeth and tongues as they close their eyes and let any mood slide into them. Usually Steve's mood involves a lost love. Chris's is usually about home. They somehow work the two themes into the same song and wind up with small hits. It's interesting how Chris never seems to get that Steve is writing about him, that he is the lost love. Because Steve never had him to begin with. Not as a lover. And Steve, after all these years of the kind of friendship that feels more like brotherhood or something else equally symbiotic, is still unsure if that's what he really wants.
Steve has yet to actually tell Chris about his confusing feelings. When he looks at him he sees it so clearly. Chris's dark hair weaving through his fingers, his lips rosy soft and quivering from too many kisses, his eyes glowing with heat and longing, his mouth parted and full of ragged breaths. Of course, when Steve snaps back to reality all he sees is Chris staring at him as if he's an idiot. So he keeps writing songs about Chris, hoping one day he'll stop being so damn dumb and hear what he's trying to say. And Chris, for his part, keeps denying to the both of them that the home he writes, sings, of has nothing to do with wherever Steve happens to be.