The question Danny should be asking is not whether he wants something else, someone else. It's how would it even be possible for him to consider anything, anyone else when he compares it to this. Danny pushing up, moving his weight, almost towering a little above him with that shift and gathering of bearing, new position. So that he's looking up into the light of Danny's face, breaking open, with the smile Steve never sees enough.
When he feels it all like it must be painted on him. This. This, this, this. Danny. Cath's nearly painful, Oh, Steve. That he knows. He can't not know. He can't not see. How this doesn't line up with anything else. Compare to anything else. Her, any of of them. How this was already here for a year, before it was anything in Danny's eyes. Irremovable fire and connection.
"They definitely have more space," is said, somewhere around his fingertips finally finding Danny's skin, still staring. The joke dying on that tone, because he can't even make it happen. He can't. It's everywhere, seeping into everything. Danny is still here, and he looks like this.
Because, Christ, those eyes. All pleased and bright, like they weren't shattered an hour ago. Like somehow looking at Steve makes him shine up even a little the way Grace does. Like from this way, it's not like the opposite suddenly. The opposite of the earlier thought looking down. Like this is the only way to look up. Like the only sun is up, up, up, through that those, that endless hunders of feet of water. Caught with so much light it feels like you can touch it.
Like there is no prayer true enough to be able to touch enough of it. Sunlight though water made into stain glass.
Until it's going to burst. His heart -- because it is his heart, God, he wouldn't care, she wouldn't care, if it wasn't.
Fingers brushing down his at once too thin and far too thick shirt. Like he can't breathe for the sensation, and like if it was gone, Danny's fingers would be brushing right against it. Not his skin. His heart. The whole concept dark and faulted, and too close. Too close to everything last week. But he doesn't know how to look away from the truth. How not to jump in front of bullet.
How not to feel like this every time he looks at Danny and would rather drown, sink down and down and down, than choose another path. How he couldn't stop feeling before Danny even noticed, and now that he has, it's gone from an uncontrollable bonfire in an endless, raging forest fire. Taking out every last wall and tree and division in its way. Until there is just Danny.
Only Danny, and the insane want to shove ever last aching part of himself into those hands.
Because, somehow, even five seconds of it, would be worth the moment, worse than that door opening, when it goes.
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When he feels it all like it must be painted on him. This. This, this, this. Danny. Cath's nearly painful, Oh, Steve. That he knows. He can't not know. He can't not see. How this doesn't line up with anything else. Compare to anything else. Her, any of of them. How this was already here for a year, before it was anything in Danny's eyes. Irremovable fire and connection.
"They definitely have more space," is said, somewhere around his fingertips finally finding Danny's skin, still staring. The joke dying on that tone, because he can't even make it happen. He can't. It's everywhere, seeping into everything. Danny is still here, and he looks like this.
Because, Christ, those eyes. All pleased and bright, like they weren't shattered an hour ago. Like somehow looking at Steve makes him shine up even a little the way Grace does. Like from this way, it's not like the opposite suddenly. The opposite of the earlier thought looking down. Like this is the only way to look up. Like the only sun is up, up, up, through that those, that endless hunders of feet of water. Caught with so much light it feels like you can touch it.
Like there is no prayer true enough to be able to touch enough of it. Sunlight though water made into stain glass.
Until it's going to burst. His heart -- because it is his heart, God, he wouldn't care, she wouldn't care, if it wasn't.
Fingers brushing down his at once too thin and far too thick shirt. Like he can't breathe for the sensation, and like if it was gone, Danny's fingers would be brushing right against it. Not his skin. His heart. The whole concept dark and faulted, and too close. Too close to everything last week. But he doesn't know how to look away from the truth. How not to jump in front of bullet.
How not to feel like this every time he looks at Danny and would rather drown, sink down and down and down, than choose another path. How he couldn't stop feeling before Danny even noticed, and now that he has, it's gone from an uncontrollable bonfire in an endless, raging forest fire. Taking out every last wall and tree and division in its way. Until there is just Danny.
Only Danny, and the insane want to shove ever last aching part of himself into those hands.
Because, somehow, even five seconds of it, would be worth the moment, worse than that door opening, when it goes.