there is a thought, to offer danny somewhere to sit, but he bites his tongue. danny is not merely a guest, barely human yet in his patchwork skin, and mike is determined not to frighten him away - or worse, drag him into something he is unready for because he is so rigidly programmed to do nothing else.
“ it might make a noise after a few minutes, “ mike explains to the air mildly as he turns the closest burner on to set the kettle atop it. that is something to be mindful of, to pull it off again before it grew too loud. in the reflection, he watches how danny shifts his weight around and skirts the exits like a nervous thing, ready for flight at a moments notice. it is a feeling he is well familiar with. he opts, instead, to speak of nothing instead, quiet enough to remain mindful of tim’s rest.
“ i know tim’s usually more of a coffee person - i can be, but it’s a little late, i thought tea would do fine enough. i don’t know if … if you have any preference. “ again a glance, brief, not really expecting an answer. hell, he doesn’t even know if danny knows the difference, but does not want him to agonize over trying to predict some nonexistent correct answer.
“ you don’t need to, but there’s always enough for two cups. it’s just … hot water with some herbs. maybe some lemon or honey or something if you like. i’ll leave one for you, if you want to try it. ” as he continues, mike leans up to pull down a pair of mugs, having to briefly resort to leaning precariously on the ends of his toes to fish for the second handle.
FOR SOMETHING INHUMAN, he behaves benignly, so unlike anything in the circus mockingly imitating humans. instead of reassuring danny, it unnerves him, the idea that he might not see a danger lurking under a mask because the mask doesn’t look like those he knows.
he listens to every word mike divulges, explaining that tim is a coffee person now and that there might be a noise. danny would be lying if he said he remembered how to make tea, or what composed tea. it he hadn’t had anything hot to drink in his years rotting as a prisoner. it sounds nice— he obviously cannot accept it. herbs in hot water sound harmless enough but not when a monster is fixing the drink.
he is strangely calm listening and watching mike, like a terror that sits just far enough away that it cannot harm you. he instead chooses to keep watching, looking at the pair of mugs fished from the counter.
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