At least Steve is still pulling him in. At least his hand is still there, flattening warm and secure against Danny's back. At least his tone is nowhere near angry, not even pissed off or argumentative, even if Steve might want it to be.
Instead, it just sounds sort of, what. Wistful, almost. Low and a little rough at the edges. Making Danny's other hand slide from the back of his neck, arm curving around Steve's so he can curl his fingers over Steve's shoulder from the back. Closer. Which might help.
Telling Steve might help, too, if he weren't sure Steve wasn't going to think he'd lost his mind. It's sort of a hopeless case, though, when Danny really has, when his brain just tripped right out of his head and ignored all the evidence right in front of him to present him with the worst possibilities ever. He's not sure Steve would get it if Danny said just quit it with the jokes, I don't want closet space, because he's not sure it would make sense to anyone outside of the walls of Danny's head.
But he doesn't exactly feel great about lying and pretending everything's fine, either.
And Steve's seen this, before. Which is why Danny knows he won't get it. Because to Steve, a cup of coffee is just a cup of coffee. It isn't divorce papers being served up along with your biscotti, alright, not to Steve.
But these things start small, and this is already a thousand miles further than he was before two weeks were up with Gabby. Moving faster, being reckless, careless.
And when the idea of losing Steve already dropkicks him like a mercy rule field goal, he's in way too deep. Already. Meaning a joke like that, the reality of it, is too damn close to being the beginning of the end. Already.
And it's too soon. Okay. Too soon. After just being sure Steve was already gone. He's already sure he's nuts, here. He doesn't need Steve looking at him like he is, too.
"You like the jeans, I get it. Fine, they can stay. I may even wear them once in a while."
Which is not what Steve was asking. And not the point. But maybe it's rewinding far enough back that there won't be any more questions.
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Instead, it just sounds sort of, what. Wistful, almost. Low and a little rough at the edges. Making Danny's other hand slide from the back of his neck, arm curving around Steve's so he can curl his fingers over Steve's shoulder from the back. Closer. Which might help.
Telling Steve might help, too, if he weren't sure Steve wasn't going to think he'd lost his mind. It's sort of a hopeless case, though, when Danny really has, when his brain just tripped right out of his head and ignored all the evidence right in front of him to present him with the worst possibilities ever. He's not sure Steve would get it if Danny said just quit it with the jokes, I don't want closet space, because he's not sure it would make sense to anyone outside of the walls of Danny's head.
But he doesn't exactly feel great about lying and pretending everything's fine, either.
And Steve's seen this, before. Which is why Danny knows he won't get it. Because to Steve, a cup of coffee is just a cup of coffee. It isn't divorce papers being served up along with your biscotti, alright, not to Steve.
But these things start small, and this is already a thousand miles further than he was before two weeks were up with Gabby. Moving faster, being reckless, careless.
And when the idea of losing Steve already dropkicks him like a mercy rule field goal, he's in way too deep. Already. Meaning a joke like that, the reality of it, is too damn close to being the beginning of the end. Already.
And it's too soon. Okay. Too soon. After just being sure Steve was already gone. He's already sure he's nuts, here. He doesn't need Steve looking at him like he is, too.
"You like the jeans, I get it. Fine, they can stay. I may even wear them once in a while."
Which is not what Steve was asking. And not the point. But maybe it's rewinding far enough back that there won't be any more questions.