Danny's arms tighten on him even for a small shift, and he's be amused, if he had the time he might snort or laugh, but Danny asks that question and any faint laugh that might have gone out in the next breath out his nose goes absolutely dead silent, because it doesn't happen. Laughing, or breathing out. Or in. Breathing, at all. Not when Danny asks and it's quiet and thick with the darkness, like it's crawled into his throat and his chest from the rest of the room.
The question absolutely real instead of the insult Steve had made of it. The only way he could say it.
When it parades back louder and broader into Steve's head than the glancing thought from with the words. The only ways he ever thought about it. Amber in his t-shirt, from the gloriously detailed misery of Danny that morning, panicking over Grace meeting Amber that way. Half dressed, in his shirt, obviously from the bedroom and entirely unknown. Back to Gabby, who he couldn't even picture like that, with her graceful veneer everywhere. A lot like Rachel in that way. Amber a complete opposite, a slipping slope in the opposite direction.
(And what did that make him, then.)
The silence drags and Steve does the only thing he can, too still and too silent, with too many thoughts that he absolutely can't say, doesn't want to say, but doesn't want to lie to Danny either. So he shrugs, haphazardly for the laying down and it quite being a true up and down movement like this. As though somehow that was a granted. He'd thought of it. But not exactly how, and never why. It wasn't about him. He was never going to be here.
He was growing more certain by the second that even being here, he was getting this wrong, when he couldn't find a word.
no subject
Danny's arms tighten on him even for a small shift, and he's be amused, if he had the time he might snort or laugh, but Danny asks that question and any faint laugh that might have gone out in the next breath out his nose goes absolutely dead silent, because it doesn't happen. Laughing, or breathing out. Or in. Breathing, at all. Not when Danny asks and it's quiet and thick with the darkness, like it's crawled into his throat and his chest from the rest of the room.
The question absolutely real instead of the insult Steve had made of it. The only way he could say it.
When it parades back louder and broader into Steve's head than the glancing thought from with the words. The only ways he ever thought about it. Amber in his t-shirt, from the gloriously detailed misery of Danny that morning, panicking over Grace meeting Amber that way. Half dressed, in his shirt, obviously from the bedroom and entirely unknown. Back to Gabby, who he couldn't even picture like that, with her graceful veneer everywhere. A lot like Rachel in that way. Amber a complete opposite, a slipping slope in the opposite direction.
(And what did that make him, then.)
The silence drags and Steve does the only thing he can, too still and too silent, with too many thoughts that he absolutely can't say, doesn't want to say, but doesn't want to lie to Danny either. So he shrugs, haphazardly for the laying down and it quite being a true up and down movement like this. As though somehow that was a granted. He'd thought of it. But not exactly how, and never why. It wasn't about him. He was never going to be here.
He was growing more certain by the second that even being here, he was getting this wrong, when he couldn't find a word.