He doesn't know what he's expecting. The muscles between his shoulder blades tensing slowly like a clock, winding only inside, the longer Danny stares at him and he has no idea what's going on behind that face. Doesn't even feel that qualified to be guessing at the fleeting shadows coming and going, as Danny seems to be taking his time to come up with the right answer, and some part of Steve is holding still.
Wondering if the answer is the same as it was earlier. Two seconds from coming in. If that actually was the answer, and Steve didn't listen. When he left. When he said he didn't want to come inside. When he stared at his drink. When he was yelling about how all of this, all of it looks obvious, even if he's wrong.
Until he says those two words. And Steve went even more still, if it was possible.
Not because he doubts it. If anything his chest squeezes inward on his heart shuddered somewhere in his chest. It's not that he doubts. It's not even that he'd make Danny stand behind any of the words he's said in the last almost two weeks now. It's that he's not going to forget. He already knows that. Even if Danny changes his mind, and he's said it. One, two, maybe three times.
Danny might change his mind. Quiet. Even. Like he's going to be okay with because he has to be. It might happen.
But he's not going to forget any of it. He didn't get to over the last year. He didn't when he left the country, or last night.
They are two words so easily said, and swallowed by the silence of the room. That slip into his chest and inflate like someone is shoving helium in on double time. Like his lungs were already flattened behind it. Because those words aren't about all of this. This, right here, these last thirty minutes. It's about all of it. And maybe that makes it about the last thirty minutes, too.
He doesn't know. He doesn't know at all. But he knows those words. He knows the way his throat tightens on something so much bigger than words. The rolls through him, shifting everything in a sudden rain the way the skies just open here, when they feel like it. Making it impossible to swallow or breathe. Almost like it he did either, if he even moved a muscle the whole world might fall apart from every edge.
It's not an apology. It's an offering. A steady reminder. Something bigger than any of this, of now.
Still possible. Cath knows now, someone does. Still possible.. Danny jumped to the wrong conclusions, and tried to run away, but didn't. Still possible. Steve wanted to throw him at door more than a little. Still possible. They've stood here for over fifteen minutes yelling about the edges of all of this. Still possible.
How profane is to hear that, knocking straight through his chest, along with the knobby-kneed sudden race of his heart, beating against his ribs, hear it and understand, and only be left with the sensation that all of this is still happening, and that makes it seems that much more impossible. That this is all real. That he's here. That Danny is saying --
Still possible.
Before Danny is digging out even more words. Words that seep into whatever space was left in him, eating it away. Like acid. Except not. Except made with light. With the careful, compelling way Danny is looking at him and not looking away now. Like he has to get the answer right, and Steve has to hear it this time. I want to be with you.
And his voice drags off. Eyes shooting away, like suddenly that might not be everything, might not be enough, might not be more than words. So much that Steve can see the effort it takes to look back. To just leave it at that. Not to pile it under other words. Like maybe there are no other words in the universe. In all of Danny. Like maybe they end and begin there. Like maybe everything in Danny did.
Still possible.
I want to be with you.
Leaving him stricken beyond the need for air, beyond the need for anything but for Danny to be five or six feet closer than he was. For a recorded to always have those words to hear, not just painstaking tattoo into his memory on this face once. When the only thing he can seem to force out of himself, out the expansion in his that still feels like everything is pressing outward until it's going to leave him a stain beneath it is to nod, and say, quiet and rough, "Okay."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-09 01:41 am (UTC)Wondering if the answer is the same as it was earlier. Two seconds from coming in. If that actually was the answer, and Steve didn't listen. When he left. When he said he didn't want to come inside. When he stared at his drink. When he was yelling about how all of this, all of it looks obvious, even if he's wrong.
Until he says those two words. And Steve went even more still, if it was possible.
Not because he doubts it. If anything his chest squeezes inward on his heart shuddered somewhere in his chest. It's not that he doubts. It's not even that he'd make Danny stand behind any of the words he's said in the last almost two weeks now. It's that he's not going to forget. He already knows that. Even if Danny changes his mind, and he's said it. One, two, maybe three times.
Danny might change his mind. Quiet. Even. Like he's going to be okay with because he has to be. It might happen.
But he's not going to forget any of it. He didn't get to over the last year. He didn't when he left the country, or last night.
They are two words so easily said, and swallowed by the silence of the room. That slip into his chest and inflate like someone is shoving helium in on double time. Like his lungs were already flattened behind it. Because those words aren't about all of this. This, right here, these last thirty minutes. It's about all of it. And maybe that makes it about the last thirty minutes, too.
He doesn't know. He doesn't know at all. But he knows those words. He knows the way his throat tightens on something so much bigger than words. The rolls through him, shifting everything in a sudden rain the way the skies just open here, when they feel like it. Making it impossible to swallow or breathe. Almost like it he did either, if he even moved a muscle the whole world might fall apart from every edge.
It's not an apology. It's an offering. A steady reminder. Something bigger than any of this, of now.
Still possible. Cath knows now, someone does. Still possible.. Danny jumped to the wrong conclusions, and tried to run away, but didn't. Still possible. Steve wanted to throw him at door more than a little. Still possible. They've stood here for over fifteen minutes yelling about the edges of all of this. Still possible.
How profane is to hear that, knocking straight through his chest, along with the knobby-kneed sudden race of his heart, beating against his ribs, hear it and understand, and only be left with the sensation that all of this is still happening, and that makes it seems that much more impossible. That this is all real. That he's here. That Danny is saying --
Still possible.
Before Danny is digging out even more words. Words that seep into whatever space was left in him, eating it away. Like acid. Except not. Except made with light. With the careful, compelling way Danny is looking at him and not looking away now. Like he has to get the answer right, and Steve has to hear it this time. I want to be with you.
And his voice drags off. Eyes shooting away, like suddenly that might not be everything, might not be enough, might not be more than words. So much that Steve can see the effort it takes to look back. To just leave it at that. Not to pile it under other words. Like maybe there are no other words in the universe. In all of Danny. Like maybe they end and begin there. Like maybe everything in Danny did.
Still possible.
I want to be with you.
Leaving him stricken beyond the need for air, beyond the need for anything but for Danny to be five or six feet closer than he was. For a recorded to always have those words to hear, not just painstaking tattoo into his memory on this face once. When the only thing he can seem to force out of himself, out the expansion in his that still feels like everything is pressing outward until it's going to leave him a stain beneath it is to nod, and say, quiet and rough, "Okay."