There was a second, where Steve held out the keys, where Danny considered just grabbing his wrist, instead of them. Like he could. Like anything he did tonight was allowed, wanted. Like touching Steve wouldn't leave a burn on his palm that he's all too sure he'll be feeling the heat of, later, by himself, trying to imagine any other face but the one he saw earlier, in the dim light of the back room, impaling himself on this one.
Where Steve's watching him like Danny's a bomb about to go off. Or. Worse. Like Steve stepped without looking, and heard the click of a land mine arming itself. Like if he moves, the whole thing will blow.
Danny might. He feels like he might. His chest is so tight he thinks he might actually be having some kind of heart attack, except it isn't. It is is heart. But it's not cardiac arrest. It's panic, masquerading. It's love, that he ruined, and betrayed, and sullied.
And now Steve is trying to get away, and Danny can't blame him, but Danny also can't let him, and the reason he was thinking about reaching out earlier is popping back up in his mind now because he has to actively clench his fist to keep from grabbing Steve's arm, and keeping him here. Desperation is welling up like water in sand, drowning him, and he can't, he can't, he can't let it end like this. "Please."
The plea carries him forward, one step, until he realizes, and stops himself, that hand he can't quite control floating somewhere between him and Steve, wanting to reach out and grab his jacket arm, unwilling to find out what would happen if he did. "Look, I'm -- I'll be quick, okay, and then you can deck me or go for a run or do whatever you need to do to. You want me to go after, that's fine, okay, I get it, I understand --"
His hands are up, now, palms facing Steve, waving a little more wildly than he wants them to, but he's started, now, and he can't stop, a stone rolling down a hill, crushing everything in its path, trying to avoid this one, precious thing. "Just let me say I'm sorry first, okay, let me explain, because I can't -- this is all wrong, this, right now."
Gesturing to the air between them, that feels heavy as the held breath before a thunderstorm, or hurricane. He should stop, stop talking, let Steve just go, if he wants to, but he can't seem to pull it together now that he's opened his mouth. "I don't want to come into work on Monday and have you still not talking to me, okay, so can we please, can we, just, can we please -- can we talk about this, for a second?"
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There was a second, where Steve held out the keys, where Danny considered just grabbing his wrist, instead of them. Like he could. Like anything he did tonight was allowed, wanted. Like touching Steve wouldn't leave a burn on his palm that he's all too sure he'll be feeling the heat of, later, by himself, trying to imagine any other face but the one he saw earlier, in the dim light of the back room, impaling himself on this one.
Where Steve's watching him like Danny's a bomb about to go off. Or. Worse. Like Steve stepped without looking, and heard the click of a land mine arming itself. Like if he moves, the whole thing will blow.
Danny might. He feels like he might. His chest is so tight he thinks he might actually be having some kind of heart attack, except it isn't. It is is heart. But it's not cardiac arrest. It's panic, masquerading. It's love, that he ruined, and betrayed, and sullied.
And now Steve is trying to get away, and Danny can't blame him, but Danny also can't let him, and the reason he was thinking about reaching out earlier is popping back up in his mind now because he has to actively clench his fist to keep from grabbing Steve's arm, and keeping him here. Desperation is welling up like water in sand, drowning him, and he can't, he can't, he can't let it end like this. "Please."
The plea carries him forward, one step, until he realizes, and stops himself, that hand he can't quite control floating somewhere between him and Steve, wanting to reach out and grab his jacket arm, unwilling to find out what would happen if he did. "Look, I'm -- I'll be quick, okay, and then you can deck me or go for a run or do whatever you need to do to. You want me to go after, that's fine, okay, I get it, I understand --"
His hands are up, now, palms facing Steve, waving a little more wildly than he wants them to, but he's started, now, and he can't stop, a stone rolling down a hill, crushing everything in its path, trying to avoid this one, precious thing. "Just let me say I'm sorry first, okay, let me explain, because I can't -- this is all wrong, this, right now."
Gesturing to the air between them, that feels heavy as the held breath before a thunderstorm, or hurricane. He should stop, stop talking, let Steve just go, if he wants to, but he can't seem to pull it together now that he's opened his mouth. "I don't want to come into work on Monday and have you still not talking to me, okay, so can we please, can we, just, can we please -- can we talk about this, for a second?"