He doesn't lower his hand while Tom's crawling, and when he's there, kneeling at Mike's feet, it uncurls again, lowers and threads into Tom's hair, slow and so gentle, guiding his head up to Mike's knee.

"I love you," he murmurs. "Look." He inclines his head to the things laid out next to him. Weapons. Tools. He could have more, maybe, but this'll do to start with. He keeps his hand gentle. He keeps his voice low. He remembers reading, once, an actual honest-to-God manual about this.

Start lighter than light. Build slower than slow.