Stefan should be paying attention. He's been losing his mind, or anyway the game has been taking it. He all but begged Colin to come and help, and there the man is, as promised, untangling Stefan's bullshit, mad, confused code. Generally saving his arse.

Why can't he keep his mind on the screen? He should be grateful. And that thing should be downstairs; it doesn't belong up in his room, it never has. Stefan tries not to look at it, but he has no power here, so of course he does, and his eyes catch-

Colin's bony fingers, squashing out his roll-up. The cigarette bends and twists under the pressure. Ugly, burnt up bits of tobacco and ash spread against the clear glass underneath.

Stefan chokes on a shaky little breath, and Colin looks round, blinks, follows his gaze, brow creased, his concentration turned to puzzlement.

There was a long beat of silence, and a choice is made, not by Stefan, not by either one of them. Stefan's face changes, some base urge bleeding through. Colin's relaxed, a smile spreading, weary but game as ever.

Daddy's little legacy pops into Stefan's head, though he's not sure why. He reaches forward.