Well, that didn't exactly go great. What with Steve freezing against him, suddenly shifting into careful neutrality, which is bad, before pulling away, which is worse, and Danny's heart gives a painful, resigned little pull, a thump that sounds like hitting the ground after a long fall.
Steve's hand still against his face, but he's not leaning in, not picking up a joke or tossing anything light-hearted back, and Danny watches, suddenly uneasy, wary, because, hell, he doesn't know, it might be too much. This all might be too much, him needing to get the hell out of that bar, making a big deal out of nothing, basically attacking Steve just as they got through the door, and then this. This, the honest answer to that question, when maybe he should have choked back honesty a little while longer.
It's only been a month. Only a month, with no lines drawn anywhere, just grateful, fucking grateful that it exists at all, when the whole world is asking for all of the rest of them and this just requires them to do what they do best, and stick by each other. But, Christ, he's not good at that, no good at dissembling, pretending. No matter what he says or does, it all comes seeping up to the surface, calling him a liar, while Steve gleefully points out the holes in his stories, the look on his face, and kisses him into quiescence or, at the least, surly acceptance.
And he doesn't want to. Lie to Steve. Make this any less than it is, which is consuming, which is so much more than he thought at the beginning, because it's still here, still, miraculously, incredibly, and he can't believe it, sometimes, feels the need to punch himself in the jaw to get his head on straight because it can't be happening and yet it is.
But now there's this. Steve, staring at him, wordless, and fear begins to beat panicked, fragile wings against the walls of his chest. Hell. What does he know? Not enough about when to keep his mouth shut, but that's old news to everyone in the room.
Shoving out a response, past the sudden thickness in his throat. "What, what are you looking at me like that for?"
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Well, that didn't exactly go great. What with Steve freezing against him, suddenly shifting into careful neutrality, which is bad, before pulling away, which is worse, and Danny's heart gives a painful, resigned little pull, a thump that sounds like hitting the ground after a long fall.
Steve's hand still against his face, but he's not leaning in, not picking up a joke or tossing anything light-hearted back, and Danny watches, suddenly uneasy, wary, because, hell, he doesn't know, it might be too much. This all might be too much, him needing to get the hell out of that bar, making a big deal out of nothing, basically attacking Steve just as they got through the door, and then this. This, the honest answer to that question, when maybe he should have choked back honesty a little while longer.
It's only been a month. Only a month, with no lines drawn anywhere, just grateful, fucking grateful that it exists at all, when the whole world is asking for all of the rest of them and this just requires them to do what they do best, and stick by each other. But, Christ, he's not good at that, no good at dissembling, pretending. No matter what he says or does, it all comes seeping up to the surface, calling him a liar, while Steve gleefully points out the holes in his stories, the look on his face, and kisses him into quiescence or, at the least, surly acceptance.
And he doesn't want to. Lie to Steve. Make this any less than it is, which is consuming, which is so much more than he thought at the beginning, because it's still here, still, miraculously, incredibly, and he can't believe it, sometimes, feels the need to punch himself in the jaw to get his head on straight because it can't be happening and yet it is.
But now there's this. Steve, staring at him, wordless, and fear begins to beat panicked, fragile wings against the walls of his chest. Hell. What does he know? Not enough about when to keep his mouth shut, but that's old news to everyone in the room.
Shoving out a response, past the sudden thickness in his throat. "What, what are you looking at me like that for?"