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"He is super cute," Sawyer conceded, "but I'm not Dustin, it's gonna take more than that." Ever's eyes made him nervous; he pointedly held up a hand to shield his face, and stubbornly spoke as though he wasn't doing that at all.

"It's not too far from work," he acknowledged. "Jesus. Work is weird now. Everything is weird. How long until it stops being weird? I don't know if moving would help. I like my house." This strained credibility a bit, even for him. There was barely enough room on the bathroom sink--open right to the main living area, like a hotel--for a stick of deodorant. "Would I have roommates though? Isn't it a liability cramming everyone into one place if you're... you're... worried about... things."

And maybe he'd just made that assumption, because he failed to react. Perhaps the fact was more of a revelation to Ever than to Ever's acquaintances.

"I want a roommate," he protested. "Just find someone who's messy and smokes a lot. That can't be too hard. That is pretty much the job description of someone my age, right?" He hesitated. Free rent. You could almost see the dollar signs rolling around in his eye sockets with slot-machine dings and accompanying confetti.

He abruptly grabbed Ever's ankles, leaning over conspiratorially. "Are there girls there? Or is the... the Negaverse composed entirely of confirmed bachelors?"

Well. It was 100% so far...

"I can't room with a girl," he said, scandalized. "Have you seen the way I live? I'd have to clean and s**t." Not that that had stopped him letting a strange girl brush his hair amidst his mess at his birthday party, but maybe he felt cohabitation required stricter standards. "I'm all about the short skirts and tiaras though. We have senshi on our side? What like... double agents? How do you know who to trust? That seems risky. I don't wanna bang the enemy, that's some Sharon Stone territory. No thanks. Anyway, it was just a general question. I was starting to worry there really was a gay agenda and it involved reaching into people's chests."

He'd grinned at Ever's near verbal slip--the first time he'd made a happy expression at him since that happened--and it hadn't entirely faded when he answered.

"Gathering up energy? What, like... morale boosting?" He had a look on his face, warring with--or maybe part of--the grin that suggested he didn't think it would be something so mundane. "I can wave some pompoms. Or whatever." And the last word was weighted. He was coming around faster than he'd expected, possibly because, as he saw it, he had no other choice.

The timid-rabbit look was returning rapidly. Fighting was... almost understandable. Self-defense, proactive offense... these were things he could rationalize. This didn't sound like that.

"Does it hurt?" he asked nervously. "Only I'm not very good at hurting people unless they give me a reason." Or even then, he added inwardly.

He looked, again--as he always did when he'd gotten bad news, or was dealing with some internal struggle--very small.

You don't have a choice. He'd spent most of his life under that, but still wasn't used to it. It was the impetus for his small acts of rebellion--the white lies, the crappy tagging, even the mismatched shoes. The little ways he could manage to exert control over his circumstances.

His face went slack, expressionless; his voice had the flatness of resignation. "I liked this better when it was girls in short skirts and free rent. Nothing without a catch, I guess." A catch. Hurting people was a catch. "I can... do whatever you need me to." He appeared to rally, or at least appeared to try to look like he was rallying. "For the greater good, right? I hope. Just say yes. Don't tell me if that's wrong, I'll find out eventually." And then, tentatively, hopefully: "You'll be there helping me, right?"

He relaxed, a little; the worried furrow of his eyebrows smoothed. He was naive; he was trusting; Ever had said they were on the right side and even if Ever had roped him into this against his will, it was easier to believe he was right than otherwise. If he wasn't, it didn't bear thinking about. "Well. I guess if I can be handy I'm... at your disposal. Oh god. That's not a good word. It sounds so... morbid. Maybe I can teach you how to send a text message, while we're at it." At least he was keen to be useful. "Anyway. As far as the offer goes..." he hesitated. "Let me... let me sleep on it." Too much, too fast: this was his den, and he was comfortable here. "What do I do in the meantime? I haven't... I feel like I know how to... to go back. To the... but I haven't. Since you told me to be careful. But I think I know how. I figure you're going to ask me to at some point. Or someone will."

"Call me, I guess," he said after a long pause. He didn't bother to clarify what he'd been clumsily, nervously getting at--didn't have the words to, anyway. "For... boot camp. Or the equivalent." He stood up too, abruptly, and there was a nervous humming energy around him at the sudden prospect of Ever's departure. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and thrust them suddenly into his pockets. "Or I'll call you."