[ it doesn't take very long for steve to realize what geralt is gesturing too - and after a second or so to remember how there actually aren't any windows in this attack and then to have that confirmed when he looks around him, steve decides to copy geralt with whatever it is he's doing, feeling along the dusty, cobwebbed walls for...what, he's not actually sure, but there has to be some way out of here that isn't back down again.

steve pauses at geralt's admission, realizing what he's doing and deciding if he wants to go ahead with it. it feels childish, all things considered, and with the scale of things they've dealt with over the last couple of weeks, including this very exact moment, but steve also doesn't want to be rude. especially when it's not like there's any big, dark, deep secret here.

he keeps his eyes on the walls, feeling along for...something. anything. ]

Not exactly. I mean- he's a huge douche, but it was more that he wasn't ever around enough not to get along with. [ said casually, despite the heavier or maybe not heavy at all implications it brings. rather, it does feel like there is a forced sort of casual-ness to it, built entirely from the fact that steve is becoming increasingly aware that he's freaking nineteen years old and getting mad at his dad for...what? not going to his father son breakfast when he was ten?

it's stupid. he moves another pile of boxes to reach for another stretch of the roof. ] What kind of unpleasant things were you running from?