Steve says that, too raw and too clear and too real, and looks over at him, finally, and it's like being stabbed in the chest and the back with twenty steak knives, all at once, and over and over again.
That he agrees. That he doesn't think Danny should do that job. Didn't think Danny should take it tonight.
Danny knows he should have known better. That he shouldn't have run his nerves out on the jokes and insults before they went, while this plan was being concocted, because it was such a hilarious thought that he could want Steve at all, let alone enough to do something questionably legal. That he could ever play that part.
When of course the joke was always going to be on him, for not even getting to play it right to the edge, to take that sword he's been carrying around for years and finally shove it straight up to the hilt into his chest. "That's not --"
Starting, for something, now that Steve is looking at him, and meeting his eyes unlocks something in Danny's chest, something in his head and throat, makes him open his mouth to say, Christ. Whatever he can. Anything. The truth. Why Steve's right, but he's wrong, too, and why Danny knows Steve doesn't want him around, but he has to at least listen to this, first, because Danny's never been able to let Steve walk away from him or anything else, before, and he doesn't think he even knows how.
But then Steve looks away, leaving Danny hanging with his chest cracking open and his mouth still trying to form words, noticing only after Steve undoes his seatbelt that they've arrived at Steve's house.
Except the car is still running, and Steve is starting to get out, and Danny can't let him do this. Send him away, without a chance to tell him, first, how wrong he knows it was, how it won't ever happen again, how sorry he is. If he can't say any of it now, he never will, and this will be the norm from now on: neither of them knowing how to talk to each other, when talking used to be like breathing, and Danny never had to worry about what he was going to say or do.
Making him wave a too-quick hand at the ignition, while going for his own seatbelt, and tipping his chin at the wheel. "Turn the car off. What, you think I can afford to just let it sit here and burn gas? You don't pay me enough for that."
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Steve says that, too raw and too clear and too real, and looks over at him, finally, and it's like being stabbed in the chest and the back with twenty steak knives, all at once, and over and over again.
That he agrees. That he doesn't think Danny should do that job. Didn't think Danny should take it tonight.
Danny knows he should have known better. That he shouldn't have run his nerves out on the jokes and insults before they went, while this plan was being concocted, because it was such a hilarious thought that he could want Steve at all, let alone enough to do something questionably legal. That he could ever play that part.
When of course the joke was always going to be on him, for not even getting to play it right to the edge, to take that sword he's been carrying around for years and finally shove it straight up to the hilt into his chest. "That's not --"
Starting, for something, now that Steve is looking at him, and meeting his eyes unlocks something in Danny's chest, something in his head and throat, makes him open his mouth to say, Christ. Whatever he can. Anything. The truth. Why Steve's right, but he's wrong, too, and why Danny knows Steve doesn't want him around, but he has to at least listen to this, first, because Danny's never been able to let Steve walk away from him or anything else, before, and he doesn't think he even knows how.
But then Steve looks away, leaving Danny hanging with his chest cracking open and his mouth still trying to form words, noticing only after Steve undoes his seatbelt that they've arrived at Steve's house.
Except the car is still running, and Steve is starting to get out, and Danny can't let him do this. Send him away, without a chance to tell him, first, how wrong he knows it was, how it won't ever happen again, how sorry he is. If he can't say any of it now, he never will, and this will be the norm from now on: neither of them knowing how to talk to each other, when talking used to be like breathing, and Danny never had to worry about what he was going to say or do.
Making him wave a too-quick hand at the ignition, while going for his own seatbelt, and tipping his chin at the wheel. "Turn the car off. What, you think I can afford to just let it sit here and burn gas? You don't pay me enough for that."