He's totally going to argue semantics, and roll his eyes at the volley of words that come from doing that. Because if he had --- let someone, anyone there, drape themselves around him -- he's rather certain the pool cue or beer bottle might have met with a harder than meant end. No one draped themselves over him. No one was going to get the chance to.
Current company excluded. Even Cath wasn't about to do that anywhere in the vicinity of Danny.
When that roll of his eyes, lands over toward Danny, again. His dashboard, glass plate, and his hands. Those hands that keept moving at the edge of this vision, in the shadows and casting their own shadows. But mostly catching his attention, more than the street. Maybe as much as Danny's voice.
When Danny's talking about anything being a drag and Steve would be loath to admit it. You don't. Not really. The last easy day was yesterday. You keep pushing forward. You don't admit the weight or the duration or any thought that is not overcoming, pushing through, succeeding where others would fail. But this was better. Better than all the things he didn't list or name or let himself consider like that.
Except when Danny's rattling into some form of insanity, hand still flying, about the fact -- what? Was he implying that he thought Steve's enjoyment about this whole night had ended? Somewhere back there? Seriously?
"Are you-" There's the smallest pause, like Steve isn't quite sure. Either that the words are going to make sense, or that Danny just made him have to clarify this. This insane thing. But the words are pointed, almost exacting, like they always are. "-yelling at me because I didn't stay? You were the one that wanted to leave."
Not that Steve didn't, also, in some amount. But the honest truth was. End of too long day, he didn't much care where here was so long as somewhere inside of it was still Danny Williams, with his too many words and too much movement. Even in the middle of a smokey bar, drinking beers, unable to reach out and touch him expect for all the ways that had gotten so ingrained over these years.
Casually. Flippantly. Congratulatory. Sympathetic. Nothing like the kind that lingered, burning under his skin most of the day now. Where the world might catch its breath and let the touch linger, against a shoulder or wirst, glide along skin he was sure he could not memorize the feel of under his fingertips enough given months or years. Might never know how to put back into the box of those first simple touches that Danny got him so used to over so long.
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Current company excluded. Even Cath wasn't about to do that anywhere in the vicinity of Danny.
When that roll of his eyes, lands over toward Danny, again. His dashboard, glass plate, and his hands. Those hands that keept moving at the edge of this vision, in the shadows and casting their own shadows. But mostly catching his attention, more than the street. Maybe as much as Danny's voice.
When Danny's talking about anything being a drag and Steve would be loath to admit it. You don't. Not really. The last easy day was yesterday. You keep pushing forward. You don't admit the weight or the duration or any thought that is not overcoming, pushing through, succeeding where others would fail. But this was better. Better than all the things he didn't list or name or let himself consider like that.
Except when Danny's rattling into some form of insanity, hand still flying, about the fact -- what? Was he implying that he thought Steve's enjoyment about this whole night had ended? Somewhere back there? Seriously?
"Are you-" There's the smallest pause, like Steve isn't quite sure. Either that the words are going to make sense, or that Danny just made him have to clarify this. This insane thing. But the words are pointed, almost exacting, like they always are. "-yelling at me because I didn't stay? You were the one that wanted to leave."
Not that Steve didn't, also, in some amount. But the honest truth was. End of too long day, he didn't much care where here was so long as somewhere inside of it was still Danny Williams, with his too many words and too much movement. Even in the middle of a smokey bar, drinking beers, unable to reach out and touch him expect for all the ways that had gotten so ingrained over these years.
Casually. Flippantly. Congratulatory. Sympathetic. Nothing like the kind that lingered, burning under his skin most of the day now. Where the world might catch its breath and let the touch linger, against a shoulder or wirst, glide along skin he was sure he could not memorize the feel of under his fingertips enough given months or years. Might never know how to put back into the box of those first simple touches that Danny got him so used to over so long.