Danny knows that, okay. He hears the tone of voice and sees that crooked, arrogant smile, and he knows it's a joke. Just like that crack about wedding bands, before.
It's a joke because that is the kind of thing people joke about. Nobody says that twelve days in and means it. Danny's jeans are not going to end up in Steve's closet, or anywhere else in this house that isn't the fucking definition of temporary. There isn't going to be a drawer that turns into a drawer and a toothbrush, that turns into buying groceries and leaving some of them here. And then he'll get pissed about buying too much food and letting it go to waste in his fridge, and the single drawer will turn into half the closet space and half the dresser and, Christ, he can't let that happen, he can't hate Steve one, two, ten years down the line because one of them forgot to buy toothpaste, how are they going to solve cases if they aren't talking to each other and --
He can't. No. Doesn't want to ruin the way Steve's lips brush against his when he's leaning this close and saying things that are making Danny's pulse careen into the red in a panicked, catapulting sprint. A pair of pants in the closet might as well be the death knell.
And Steve is joking, but it doesn't matter. Someone used to tell him jokes always have a grain of truth, and normally he thinks that's bullshit, but right now he's not so sure, is too busy drowning in it, heart thumping hard against his temples.
"Maybe I'll just throw them away."
There, problem solved. No need to find space anywhere, and start with the first of the little annoyances that will invariably end with Steve wishing he'd never seen Danny at all, which is for the best for everybody, right?
no subject
Danny knows that, okay. He hears the tone of voice and sees that crooked, arrogant smile, and he knows it's a joke. Just like that crack about wedding bands, before.
It's a joke because that is the kind of thing people joke about. Nobody says that twelve days in and means it. Danny's jeans are not going to end up in Steve's closet, or anywhere else in this house that isn't the fucking definition of temporary. There isn't going to be a drawer that turns into a drawer and a toothbrush, that turns into buying groceries and leaving some of them here. And then he'll get pissed about buying too much food and letting it go to waste in his fridge, and the single drawer will turn into half the closet space and half the dresser and, Christ, he can't let that happen, he can't hate Steve one, two, ten years down the line because one of them forgot to buy toothpaste, how are they going to solve cases if they aren't talking to each other and --
He can't. No. Doesn't want to ruin the way Steve's lips brush against his when he's leaning this close and saying things that are making Danny's pulse careen into the red in a panicked, catapulting sprint. A pair of pants in the closet might as well be the death knell.
And Steve is joking, but it doesn't matter. Someone used to tell him jokes always have a grain of truth, and normally he thinks that's bullshit, but right now he's not so sure, is too busy drowning in it, heart thumping hard against his temples.
"Maybe I'll just throw them away."
There, problem solved. No need to find space anywhere, and start with the first of the little annoyances that will invariably end with Steve wishing he'd never seen Danny at all, which is for the best for everybody, right?