It's unfair, is what it is. How that goofy grin on Steve's face makes Danny feel like someone's twirling a spaghetti fork in his guts. Self-pleased smirk crooking his mouth, blue eyes warm and full of the kind of gleeful brilliance that wipes ten years off Steve's face, and it is, shouldn't be, something alarmingly like endearing.
Whatever's in his bent head, whatever he's written that he holds out on that yellow legal paper, that he's holding out, with a look like Grace gets sometimes when she's found something she loves and that Danny will probably, definitely, hate with the fire of a thousand exploding suns (including but not limited to: small creatures from the beach, talking dolls, singing stuffed animals, and anything to do with boy bands), and it's off-putting, to say the least.
The way his chest and throat constrict, with the way Steve is watching him. Like Danny is still the best part of this, whatever he'd come up with that he clearly thinks is the greatest dig of all time, because Steve occasionally cracks himself up in ways that no one else gets. Resulting in things like this square of legal paper that Danny looks at, suspicious, before huffing a breath through his nose, and reaching to pluck the thing away, flipping it open and scanning it quickly.
Mouth twisting and eyebrows sinking into an exasperated frown, before his eyes move back to Steve, and he waves the paper, flapping like a crippled butterfly. "You call this an invitation? This is the worst invitation I've ever seen, and I'm including the construction paper ones handed out in fourth grade to the stupid birthday parties at the roller rink. This is terrible."
But it is an invitation, and the knot existing in his chest jogs hard at the smile in Steve's eyes, bright and strangely gentle behind the smug smirk painted arrogantly across his mouth, and his hand is reaching before he knows it, fingers wrapping Steve's wrist and tugging as he turns towards the stairs in a way that belies the aggravated tone of voice.
"You done? Can we go, or do you have any more desire to continue being a smartass?"
no subject
Whatever's in his bent head, whatever he's written that he holds out on that yellow legal paper, that he's holding out, with a look like Grace gets sometimes when she's found something she loves and that Danny will probably, definitely, hate with the fire of a thousand exploding suns (including but not limited to: small creatures from the beach, talking dolls, singing stuffed animals, and anything to do with boy bands), and it's off-putting, to say the least.
The way his chest and throat constrict, with the way Steve is watching him. Like Danny is still the best part of this, whatever he'd come up with that he clearly thinks is the greatest dig of all time, because Steve occasionally cracks himself up in ways that no one else gets. Resulting in things like this square of legal paper that Danny looks at, suspicious, before huffing a breath through his nose, and reaching to pluck the thing away, flipping it open and scanning it quickly.
Mouth twisting and eyebrows sinking into an exasperated frown, before his eyes move back to Steve, and he waves the paper, flapping like a crippled butterfly. "You call this an invitation? This is the worst invitation I've ever seen, and I'm including the construction paper ones handed out in fourth grade to the stupid birthday parties at the roller rink. This is terrible."
But it is an invitation, and the knot existing in his chest jogs hard at the smile in Steve's eyes, bright and strangely gentle behind the smug smirk painted arrogantly across his mouth, and his hand is reaching before he knows it, fingers wrapping Steve's wrist and tugging as he turns towards the stairs in a way that belies the aggravated tone of voice.
"You done? Can we go, or do you have any more desire to continue being a smartass?"