Relaxed is not the thing Danny is. Settled next him, somewhere toward half on him. Under his arm, against his side. Settled in one place, definitely. Sitting and not looking like he's aimed to going anywhere. Drinking his beer, watching the movie, as they both start picking up on the middle of the vendetta in progress. But he isn't relaxed, or relaxing. Steve's touching too much of him not to notice so far.
Or it's that Steve's had too much of him limp, loose, and limber to not know the difference.
Not that he's surprised, but it's a little focusing. He's not sure it's anywhere to concerning or worrisome, given Danny is there. Rambling off his mouth, while Steve shifts glances at Danny between the flick and the side of Danny's face, and in the instance of certain seconds just the movement of his mouth while he's saying things somewhere between his beer bottle and watch the tv screen.
But it's not like Steve doesn't get why. Or can take it back. Or maybe can, but won't. Not the words that came out of his mouth at the beginning or end. All of it was still true, We shouldn't be doing this, stern and pointed, and No, so thin the wind could overrun it. Like the way Danny's voice in his head keeps saying, I'm gonna do everything I can to stay. Everything. I can. To stay. Having no idea how to hold on to any of that.
While he's complaining and half-slandering Steve, layering his voice everywhere on Steve, while Steve's noticing this lack of any kind of calm in Danny beneath appearance. When the only thing to do with that seems to be to hold it, and to push at the same second. Rib at Danny at least in a normal way. Letting his face fall toward a unsurprised, distracted time-worn and expected exasperation of insult.
"You don't like Tarantino?" Scoffed almost, with a heavy hand, like he was implying Danny knew just as much absolutely nothing about good movies, as he did about good music on the radio. "All of his stuff ended up being cult classics."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-07 02:54 pm (UTC)Or it's that Steve's had too much of him limp, loose, and limber to not know the difference.
Not that he's surprised, but it's a little focusing. He's not sure it's anywhere to concerning or worrisome, given Danny is there. Rambling off his mouth, while Steve shifts glances at Danny between the flick and the side of Danny's face, and in the instance of certain seconds just the movement of his mouth while he's saying things somewhere between his beer bottle and watch the tv screen.
But it's not like Steve doesn't get why. Or can take it back. Or maybe can, but won't. Not the words that came out of his mouth at the beginning or end. All of it was still true, We shouldn't be doing this, stern and pointed, and No, so thin the wind could overrun it. Like the way Danny's voice in his head keeps saying, I'm gonna do everything I can to stay. Everything. I can. To stay. Having no idea how to hold on to any of that.
While he's complaining and half-slandering Steve, layering his voice everywhere on Steve, while Steve's noticing this lack of any kind of calm in Danny beneath appearance. When the only thing to do with that seems to be to hold it, and to push at the same second. Rib at Danny at least in a normal way. Letting his face fall toward a unsurprised, distracted time-worn and expected exasperation of insult.
"You don't like Tarantino?" Scoffed almost, with a heavy hand, like he was implying Danny knew just as much absolutely nothing about good movies, as he did about good music on the radio. "All of his stuff ended up being cult classics."