It's like a hook. Snagging around his sternum, jerking him towards Steve, helpless as a bug caught in a porchlight. When it's all shining off of Steve like sunshine glimmering off water, and he just can't help it, can't stop it, the way it pools miserably in his stomach, ties itself in some stupidly convoluted knot that would earn a Boy Scout a badge. All of it, like a searchlight. Making it impossible to look away. Channeling the attention of the room, enough that Danny can feel it, like a changing current, when a few more people start looking their way.
He can't even fault Lani for screwing up her shot, when Steve's smiling that stupid smirk at her, eyes sparkling like he's got some great joke, like he wants her to pick up on this tease and rag on him about it, but she just blinks, looking a little swamped, while Danny's chest aches like someone's got a half-ton weight on it.
Love it? He hates it. Like he hates everything right now. The bar, the warm, dim lighting. Lani, shaking her hair back. And Steve. Most of all. Hating that stupid face, the joke, the way Steve glances at him, so amused with himself, like getting up under Danny's skin is the best possible thing he could be doing in this moment, while simultaneously charming and confusing the hell out of some poor local girl who has no idea what kind of mess she's walked into. Would look at the wreckage of the last month, and be speechless.
So, no, Steve, he doesn't love it. Like he doesn't love the way he is compelled to keep pushing into the conversation, before she can respond, before Steve asks or tells her anything else.
"That is an entirely erroneous assessment to make, see, this is why you need an actual detective," with a gesture to his own chest, more for the point than for Lani's benefit, but whatever, two birds, one stone, it works. "Around, because you make these statements -- pathetically untrue, by the way, what is there to like? You steal my car, we get shot at on a regular basis, and every now and again someone gets poisoned, kidnapped, or hijacked, just for kicks."
Already waving it off in Lani's direction. "No, I'm kidding, it's all very boring, really. Aside from the near-death experiences, those really have a way of keeping you on your toes."
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It's like a hook. Snagging around his sternum, jerking him towards Steve, helpless as a bug caught in a porchlight. When it's all shining off of Steve like sunshine glimmering off water, and he just can't help it, can't stop it, the way it pools miserably in his stomach, ties itself in some stupidly convoluted knot that would earn a Boy Scout a badge. All of it, like a searchlight. Making it impossible to look away. Channeling the attention of the room, enough that Danny can feel it, like a changing current, when a few more people start looking their way.
He can't even fault Lani for screwing up her shot, when Steve's smiling that stupid smirk at her, eyes sparkling like he's got some great joke, like he wants her to pick up on this tease and rag on him about it, but she just blinks, looking a little swamped, while Danny's chest aches like someone's got a half-ton weight on it.
Love it? He hates it. Like he hates everything right now. The bar, the warm, dim lighting. Lani, shaking her hair back. And Steve. Most of all. Hating that stupid face, the joke, the way Steve glances at him, so amused with himself, like getting up under Danny's skin is the best possible thing he could be doing in this moment, while simultaneously charming and confusing the hell out of some poor local girl who has no idea what kind of mess she's walked into. Would look at the wreckage of the last month, and be speechless.
So, no, Steve, he doesn't love it. Like he doesn't love the way he is compelled to keep pushing into the conversation, before she can respond, before Steve asks or tells her anything else.
"That is an entirely erroneous assessment to make, see, this is why you need an actual detective," with a gesture to his own chest, more for the point than for Lani's benefit, but whatever, two birds, one stone, it works. "Around, because you make these statements -- pathetically untrue, by the way, what is there to like? You steal my car, we get shot at on a regular basis, and every now and again someone gets poisoned, kidnapped, or hijacked, just for kicks."
Already waving it off in Lani's direction. "No, I'm kidding, it's all very boring, really. Aside from the near-death experiences, those really have a way of keeping you on your toes."