"Are you arguing semantics with me, now? Are you seriously doing that? I'm sorry, would that have made it better, or worse?"
And there is so much more he could say to that, but he's derailed, words catching, struggling against each other, as Steve goes on, and his jaw goes tight, enough that he feels like something might actually crack, if he doesn't let it go soon.
Leading to a pause, while his jaw works, mouth tightens, and he looks away, out the windshield, gripping the few threads of restraint left with iron fingers.
"I hadn't realized it was such a drag beforehand."
It's possible Steve doesn't actually mean to make that smart like it does, but it does. Lands right where he's sore and aching, like a punch against a healing scar.
Of course. Of course that's the point, however, he feels like he's sort of earned the right to be -- well, yeah. Enjoy the night. But enjoying it with him. Not because some random barflies decided to pinpoint him as the best and most attractive target in the room. And things hadn't been so bad, just the two of them. Right? Sure, it was just normal, just beers and bitching, but comfortable. Good, even, so he'd thought.
And then all this happened.
"Okay, how about this, how about, next time, I leave you there," hands lifting, parallel, like he's placing a box down in the air, shifting it over a space, "and you can go on enjoying your night as long as you want, problem solved."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-01 02:54 am (UTC)And there is so much more he could say to that, but he's derailed, words catching, struggling against each other, as Steve goes on, and his jaw goes tight, enough that he feels like something might actually crack, if he doesn't let it go soon.
Leading to a pause, while his jaw works, mouth tightens, and he looks away, out the windshield, gripping the few threads of restraint left with iron fingers.
"I hadn't realized it was such a drag beforehand."
It's possible Steve doesn't actually mean to make that smart like it does, but it does. Lands right where he's sore and aching, like a punch against a healing scar.
Of course. Of course that's the point, however, he feels like he's sort of earned the right to be -- well, yeah. Enjoy the night. But enjoying it with him. Not because some random barflies decided to pinpoint him as the best and most attractive target in the room. And things hadn't been so bad, just the two of them. Right? Sure, it was just normal, just beers and bitching, but comfortable. Good, even, so he'd thought.
And then all this happened.
"Okay, how about this, how about, next time, I leave you there," hands lifting, parallel, like he's placing a box down in the air, shifting it over a space, "and you can go on enjoying your night as long as you want, problem solved."