It's a no, but it's not the no Danny expected, which means he's still set and ready for an argument, but all that tension is just circling his system now, confused with nowhere to go and nothing to aim itself at, because Steve's not complaining, he's...
Lost. In thoughts. Or memories? Staring at the yellow box like it's a snake that jumped out and bit him, or is coiled there, thinking about it and hissing menacingly. Not a six pack of beer that couldn't hurt them if it tried, unless someone else was swinging it at his head. It's not even enough to get them both drunk.
But it's Hawaiian, and he guesses it probably is something Steve would recognize, even if he hasn't been here for years. That's not why he picked it up, but now he's wondering if he should've considered that factor, that maybe it would be familiar, and not in the good way. Though Steve doesn't seem to be caught in bad memories. Or good ones. He's just...caught. Stuck, for a second, like a record needle running into a piece of gum on the plate.
Huh. That's new.
"Yeah?"
He has to look back at the road as he's merging, checking over his shoulder at the blind spot, but he glances over again once they're on the way. "It's pretty much the only decent beer on this hunk of volcanic rock."
He can't help it. Goes for grating and annoying even when there's something strange tentatively flipping itself in his head, in his throat, in his stomach, that says maybe he should tred a little more gently in this particular waste of quicksand and mat-covered pits, but he can't. Pushes and prods instead of draws back. He always has. He inserts himself where he's not wanted or needed, rolls straight into whatever place wants him least. Like here. Now. Tossing out his opinion like it's a thing that has even the slightest relevance on whatever's going through this guy's head right now.
Whatever. He probably doesn't want sympathy, anyway, no matter how gruff it might be.
no subject
Lost. In thoughts. Or memories? Staring at the yellow box like it's a snake that jumped out and bit him, or is coiled there, thinking about it and hissing menacingly. Not a six pack of beer that couldn't hurt them if it tried, unless someone else was swinging it at his head. It's not even enough to get them both drunk.
But it's Hawaiian, and he guesses it probably is something Steve would recognize, even if he hasn't been here for years. That's not why he picked it up, but now he's wondering if he should've considered that factor, that maybe it would be familiar, and not in the good way. Though Steve doesn't seem to be caught in bad memories. Or good ones. He's just...caught. Stuck, for a second, like a record needle running into a piece of gum on the plate.
Huh. That's new.
"Yeah?"
He has to look back at the road as he's merging, checking over his shoulder at the blind spot, but he glances over again once they're on the way. "It's pretty much the only decent beer on this hunk of volcanic rock."
He can't help it. Goes for grating and annoying even when there's something strange tentatively flipping itself in his head, in his throat, in his stomach, that says maybe he should tred a little more gently in this particular waste of quicksand and mat-covered pits, but he can't. Pushes and prods instead of draws back. He always has. He inserts himself where he's not wanted or needed, rolls straight into whatever place wants him least. Like here. Now. Tossing out his opinion like it's a thing that has even the slightest relevance on whatever's going through this guy's head right now.
Whatever. He probably doesn't want sympathy, anyway, no matter how gruff it might be.