"You do that." He said, with this snort was still more half a quiet laugh.
Steve would be just fine with that. He's not sure he'd want any of them near Danny either.
He's not even entirely sure about this whole BBQ, which decides to reassert itself along the lines of other people and Danny, and anyone knowing about Danny to comment to him about anything at all. About him, about things Steve'd probably like best left in the far past, too. Never heard about. Never known about. About Cath and Danny in the same space, which happened to be the same space where all the rest of his people would be at that time.
Which didn't change he already put it out there, like a bet he wouldn't lose. Nor that Malia truly could use people. Thoughts that spring in, swirl around, and slide away. Leaving the ground under his thought slimy and stilted.
But still incapable of not getting caught up on watching Danny make faces. The way he can make out the movement of Danny's cheek, his mouth, his eyebrows even in the little more than half-darkness. The way there's something in that, complicated as it is uncomplicated, that he wants to hold on to it. Wants it to be his only, and not touched by anything, anyone else. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if it doesn't answer any question or problem.
When he just leaves it there, all of it, with that last senseless, pointless, flippant set of words and the settling quiet of the room around them. The way he's starting to feel slowly, inch by inch, like maybe he can let go. Relax away from attention and focus, away from too much awareness. Except for how, even when he rubs the side of his face in the pillow, eyes shutting a little, his attention and awareness of Danny doesn't dim in the slightest yet.
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Steve would be just fine with that. He's not sure he'd want any of them near Danny either.
He's not even entirely sure about this whole BBQ, which decides to reassert itself along the lines of other people and Danny, and anyone knowing about Danny to comment to him about anything at all. About him, about things Steve'd probably like best left in the far past, too. Never heard about. Never known about. About Cath and Danny in the same space, which happened to be the same space where all the rest of his people would be at that time.
Which didn't change he already put it out there, like a bet he wouldn't lose. Nor that Malia truly could use people.
Thoughts that spring in, swirl around, and slide away. Leaving the ground under his thought slimy and stilted.
But still incapable of not getting caught up on watching Danny make faces. The way he can make out the movement of Danny's cheek, his mouth, his eyebrows even in the little more than half-darkness. The way there's something in that, complicated as it is uncomplicated, that he wants to hold on to it. Wants it to be his only, and not touched by anything, anyone else. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if it doesn't answer any question or problem.
When he just leaves it there, all of it, with that last senseless, pointless, flippant set of words and the settling quiet of the room around them. The way he's starting to feel slowly, inch by inch, like maybe he can let go. Relax away from attention and focus, away from too much awareness. Except for how, even when he rubs the side of his face in the pillow, eyes shutting a little, his attention and awareness of Danny doesn't dim in the slightest yet.