Oliver felt Jerome close in beside him, but his eyes stayed glue to Joe. He didn't respond, simply watching whatever new stage of (hopefully) acceptance Joe was going through. Peripherally he recognized the signs, but without knowing this man, or what precisely was happening, it was impossible to know what sort of behavior they'd get on the other side of it.
And then Edwin was moving. Away from him and towards Joe. The fuck was he doing? His expression demanded as much as his gaze shifted from Joe to his boyfriend. Sure, on basic principle he knew what the elf was trying to do, and in any other circumstances he'd be right beside him. Probably. But right now, with his mind filling with mental images of Joe grabbing Edwin, of Simms grabbing Edwin and dragging him away, it took every ounce of self control he had to not reach out and pull his boyfriend back behind him.
Except maybe it wasn't self control, maybe it was the fact that he was suddenly pretty damn sure he couldn't move even if he'd wanted to, tension radiating and aching through every muscle in his body. His eyes moving to Joe, scanning him quickly, more frantic now than assessing. Was he holding anything? Did he have something he could use as a weapon? He'd looked before, hadn't he? He could hear his own breath now even if he suddenly felt like it wasn't doing a very good job of filling his lungs, faint and ragged over the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. He forced himself to inhale, and count, and not close his eyes. Edwin was still within reach, and just because he didn't see a weapon didn't mean there wasn't one. Exhale. One. Two. Three.