nny | tiny vague Sam/Steveness

But he's used to changes and new situations. Got used to the cupboard handle at just the wrong height, learned to step a little lighter on the stair two from the top, started swinging wider through the doorway so he didn't trip over feet in the darkness. It's nothing, it's furniture, it's not a big deal.

If he's honest it's why he gave Steve a key, and Sam's not gonna make him curl tighter into that corner of his. He gets the weird kind of comfort to be found in the solid floor and the irregular huffs of breath from the guy who's got your back, got it tucked safe under the rock he's using for a pillow. And he's got Steve's back. Someone damn well needs to.

So he doesn't say a word because he's used to changes. Just invests a little more in the groceries, talks when he's spoken to, leaves a pillow on the end of the couch in case they can get to a place the war's not so close.

Grins when he finds Steve, head tipped back and snoring like a badly-tuned jeep, sprawled out in the only comfortable chair that Sam has. Shuts the door a little louder than he needs to and grins wider when the guy doesn't even stir.

"Sorry," Steve tells him later, rubbing at the back of his neck like it's not the bed-hair that's the problem here. "Thanks."

"Mi casa, su crashpad," Sam tells him, "but there's mattress-space spare when you need it." He lets Steve look a little closer, lets him read what he wants on Sam's face - it doesn't have to be anything, that way. It's just furniture, it's not a big deal.