Steve doesn't answer, just shuts off the car like he'd rather be punching it, so hard Danny's sure for a second that the keys are simply going to snap off in the ignition, and then shoves his way up and out. Like the very air inside the car is disgusting him. Like he can't stand to be even within two feet of Danny, anymore, needs to be up, outside, away.
And it's the same when Danny gets out, and walks around the car, after a hesitation, because Steve hasn't just tossed him the keys like usual or started moving towards the house. He's standing there like a monolith, face blank, holding the keys out by the fob. Like he won't offer any part of himself to accidentally be touched. Like it would burn him, if Danny's fingers brushed his skin.
And silent, which isn't the worst thing for Steve to be, but is, when he's doing this. Shutting down. Boxing himself away. And Danny can't help, this time, can't snap him out of it by getting him mad or getting him to see reason or joking around until Steve finally cracks a smile, because, this time -- for the first time -- it's Danny's fault. He did this. Shoved Steve into his own head. Abused -- betrayed -- their partnership, friendship, Steve's trust. He deserves it. He deserves for Steve to never want to touch him again, or talk to him again, and if it were only about that, maybe he'd just take these keys and let it go --
Except he can't, either, hasn't ever been this person, even without the job and their friendship to fight for. He can't keep quiet, and he won't let Steve, even if he should, because in the end, Danny's never been able to keep his feelings to himself, even when it would be smart, even when it would save him.
So he reaches to take the keys, but leaves them in his hand, without turning back towards the car, and chews for a second on the inside of his lip, watching Steve. Wanting to shatter that blankness. Get him to yell, or sneer, or swear, if that's what it takes, because Danny could take that, but he can't take this.
Which is why, instead of just leaving, like he probably should, he purses his lips for a second, and then says: "Can I come in for a sec?"
It's admittance, finally, that something's wrong. That neither of them has said, but they both know, because Danny wouldn't ask, and neither would Steve, on a good day. On a normal day. On any day when Danny wasn't ninety percent sure he'd never get back to that ease with Steve, ever again.
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Steve doesn't answer, just shuts off the car like he'd rather be punching it, so hard Danny's sure for a second that the keys are simply going to snap off in the ignition, and then shoves his way up and out. Like the very air inside the car is disgusting him. Like he can't stand to be even within two feet of Danny, anymore, needs to be up, outside, away.
And it's the same when Danny gets out, and walks around the car, after a hesitation, because Steve hasn't just tossed him the keys like usual or started moving towards the house. He's standing there like a monolith, face blank, holding the keys out by the fob. Like he won't offer any part of himself to accidentally be touched. Like it would burn him, if Danny's fingers brushed his skin.
And silent, which isn't the worst thing for Steve to be, but is, when he's doing this. Shutting down. Boxing himself away. And Danny can't help, this time, can't snap him out of it by getting him mad or getting him to see reason or joking around until Steve finally cracks a smile, because, this time -- for the first time -- it's Danny's fault. He did this. Shoved Steve into his own head. Abused -- betrayed -- their partnership, friendship, Steve's trust. He deserves it. He deserves for Steve to never want to touch him again, or talk to him again, and if it were only about that, maybe he'd just take these keys and let it go --
Except he can't, either, hasn't ever been this person, even without the job and their friendship to fight for. He can't keep quiet, and he won't let Steve, even if he should, because in the end, Danny's never been able to keep his feelings to himself, even when it would be smart, even when it would save him.
So he reaches to take the keys, but leaves them in his hand, without turning back towards the car, and chews for a second on the inside of his lip, watching Steve. Wanting to shatter that blankness. Get him to yell, or sneer, or swear, if that's what it takes, because Danny could take that, but he can't take this.
Which is why, instead of just leaving, like he probably should, he purses his lips for a second, and then says: "Can I come in for a sec?"
It's admittance, finally, that something's wrong. That neither of them has said, but they both know, because Danny wouldn't ask, and neither would Steve, on a good day. On a normal day. On any day when Danny wasn't ninety percent sure he'd never get back to that ease with Steve, ever again.