Re: B&B: Janus, Steve, Atticus
"You can't trust me with fragile things like moving boxes," Janus said lightly, but with a hint of a barb underneath. It was frankly rude to double-speak with Steve there, but at least he had some courtesy and regretted it afterward. He shot Steve a look of combined mulish defiance and vaguely chastened regret, and he took his hand back as if it suddenly had more weight than he'd expected. He respected Steve's looks, sorry, looks, and responded in a way he probably might not have for anyone else. He shrugged as if he didn't care, all teenager, and stepped back with his coffee cup held in defense over his chest.
Janus usually fired up whenever the air around Atticus did, a nearly immediate, obviously automatic reaction, and the kitchen suddenly got a little warm, like the sun had come out early, or maybe the furnace had kicked in. Janus took another step backward and restrained himself, frowning so deeply that his cheeks and forehead lined up in folds. For some reason he assumed Atticus' exclamation was for him, and his response was to put his chin up and stare at the ceiling for a moment.
There was nothing up there.
Better in his skin again (it kept taking him pauses to do it), he rejoined the present and the conversation. "I am not enjoying it," he snapped, immediately jarring himself again. "But I am saying I told you so, because you didn't have to do it your way, and now someone beat the tar out of you for your trouble." Janus showed his teeth, like an irritated old dog, and pushed at a kitchen chair so he could drop down into it.
Janus gave Steve a look of his own. It said, This guy. Can't take care of himself. At my wit's end. Do something. His eyes rolled up into his head when he did it.