That had - not gone as smoothly as he’d hoped, but he was at least on the stupid sailboat, Evander considered, groping around for the smallest of pros here. See, here was another: Alfred wasn’t laughing, or had learned to do so silently (Evander was determinedly not checking; he couldn’t afford to lose any of these bright sides right now, or he would fling himself back onto the dock and be done with it.) And - well, there wasn’t much space for wallowing in his humiliation here, anyway.

Stars above us, was all his brother remarked. That was another small mercy, too.

At the question - offer - suggestion, however, Evander flinched. “Nope,” he got out, a little too fast and a little too forcefully, as he stubbornly hauled himself upright again. (His first instinct was to dust himself off or tidy his hair, but - so as not to look precious about this, presuming there was still plenty of occasion to be splashed or sweaty or dirty hands off the lines, he just curled his fingers into his palms to resist it.) “No, I can do it. You just - tell me what else to do.” He was not sure he could do it, but he bloody well would, somehow, practice made perfect and whatnot, whether or not it took a miracle. Evander had committed to this; and he might look stupid and definitely felt stupid, but all the same, he’d be damned if he gave up now.

---