There's a decently large chunk of him that wishes Steve would just leave it alone. That he would stop trying, and just let it all fall.
It's a part even Danny hates, but he has to admit that it's been more reliable than any other facet of himself, and it wants to pull away as Steve tugs him forward, closer, like proximity is going to make these words make any more sense. They aren't supposed to. They aren't supposed to be happening at all. The most he might expect right now would be an apology, an explanation. Rachel so self-consciously holding herself back from twisting her wedding ring, her elaborate engagement ring, the one that wasn't from him, the single diamond that was all he could afford on his salary.
Nowhere does this scenario play out with Steve's fingers digging into his shoulders and Steve's voice digging into his brain, herding the broken pieces back together despite the way they turn and fight, struggling against the inexorable force trying to get them to believe those words. The ones that mean he's wrong, and everything's fine. As fine as it can be, this week, as fine as it can be with having no idea where they stand with each other, with no definitions and no boundaries. As fine as it can be when he's realizing that there's really nothing to say Steve can't be doing things with Cath, too, because they never actually set any ground rules. Have said nothing other than it's a not-casual thing, which means precisely jack squat.
No matter what words Steve is pushing into the air. And how they drop off, cut like a cord, after I told her it couldn't, that drops like a bomb in Danny's head and explodes in a silent, vicious expansion.
He told her. He told her. Steve did. Drew that line. Nothing happened. Not Steve's fingers in her silky dark hair. Not her mouth on his skin. Not her hands everywhere. Not the low groan deep in his throat, not unlike the sounds Danny feels like his brain is making, confused and almost painful.
It would be so much easier to not believe him, and just let it hurt. To give in to expectation. But he's blinking, and feeling like he's seeing Steve's face for the first time tonight, seeing the furrow in his forehead and the way that anger is masking something so like fear Danny almost gives up on himself again, because Steve is not scared of anything.
Except he's seen that expression before. Last week, right before Steve tattooed angry marks across his body, because Danny had been stupid and almost gotten himself killed, which Danny would like to remind Steve he does on a practically daily basis.
Glass cracking, letting in the howling of the wind, air, motion. "You actually are serious."
Edging towards something that looks terrifyingly like relief, and belief, like he's edging along the outside of a building towards a fire escape that looks rickety and rusted out, but still, maybe, maybe, usable.
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It's a part even Danny hates, but he has to admit that it's been more reliable than any other facet of himself, and it wants to pull away as Steve tugs him forward, closer, like proximity is going to make these words make any more sense. They aren't supposed to. They aren't supposed to be happening at all. The most he might expect right now would be an apology, an explanation. Rachel so self-consciously holding herself back from twisting her wedding ring, her elaborate engagement ring, the one that wasn't from him, the single diamond that was all he could afford on his salary.
Nowhere does this scenario play out with Steve's fingers digging into his shoulders and Steve's voice digging into his brain, herding the broken pieces back together despite the way they turn and fight, struggling against the inexorable force trying to get them to believe those words. The ones that mean he's wrong, and everything's fine. As fine as it can be, this week, as fine as it can be with having no idea where they stand with each other, with no definitions and no boundaries. As fine as it can be when he's realizing that there's really nothing to say Steve can't be doing things with Cath, too, because they never actually set any ground rules. Have said nothing other than it's a not-casual thing, which means precisely jack squat.
No matter what words Steve is pushing into the air. And how they drop off, cut like a cord, after I told her it couldn't, that drops like a bomb in Danny's head and explodes in a silent, vicious expansion.
He told her. He told her. Steve did. Drew that line. Nothing happened. Not Steve's fingers in her silky dark hair. Not her mouth on his skin. Not her hands everywhere. Not the low groan deep in his throat, not unlike the sounds Danny feels like his brain is making, confused and almost painful.
It would be so much easier to not believe him, and just let it hurt. To give in to expectation. But he's blinking, and feeling like he's seeing Steve's face for the first time tonight, seeing the furrow in his forehead and the way that anger is masking something so like fear Danny almost gives up on himself again, because Steve is not scared of anything.
Except he's seen that expression before. Last week, right before Steve tattooed angry marks across his body, because Danny had been stupid and almost gotten himself killed, which Danny would like to remind Steve he does on a practically daily basis.
Glass cracking, letting in the howling of the wind, air, motion. "You actually are serious."
Edging towards something that looks terrifyingly like relief, and belief, like he's edging along the outside of a building towards a fire escape that looks rickety and rusted out, but still, maybe, maybe, usable.