Steve's lying, over there, like Danny can't always tell he's lying even when he isn't collapsed like a building right on top of Danny. Only saying that one word, but that one word is a lie, because Steve had been relaxed and content, and now he's tense and silent in all the wrong ways. It's not unlike down by the door, when Danny realized, when Steve slipped up, admitted that it had been so much longer than Danny could ever have imagined. Years.
He'd pulled back then, too. Maybe he never wanted to talk about any of this. Maybe he just wanted to finally let it happen, and never actually talk about the why, or how long it took to get here. Maybe he never wants to talk about it ever again.
A thought that curdles anxious in Danny's stomach, at how easily Steve might simply pretend it had never happened. How good he is at compartmentalizing. Maybe this got it out of his system.
Whatever the reason, Danny does. He wants to talk. He wants to know. He wants to work through these things he's feeling, that are so raw and sore from being suddenly dragged out into the light and let loose for the first time. He wants to know what it is Steve is thinking, right now, that's making his muscles tighten and head turn in on itself.
Even if he doesn't want to know, he wants to know. Whatever it is. Good or bad. "I couldn't."
It's a small enough thing to do. Go first. Say to Steve whatever Steve is having a hard time saying to him. Confess a little more. Steve said he wanted it all, before, and Danny couldn't tell him, but he can start, a little, now. "I could never let myself get that far without feeling guilty about it."
It's his turn to shrug, a little awkward, because that's not quite right, either, and he wants it to be. Right. "Guiltier."
Because that was never very far away, when he broke down and let himself try to imagine, picture, fantasize about any of this.
But. "I wouldn't have gotten it right, anyway."
Not anything about it. Steve. This room. This feeling, knotting and unknotting in his chest. He would never have gotten any of it even slightly right.
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Steve's lying, over there, like Danny can't always tell he's lying even when he isn't collapsed like a building right on top of Danny. Only saying that one word, but that one word is a lie, because Steve had been relaxed and content, and now he's tense and silent in all the wrong ways. It's not unlike down by the door, when Danny realized, when Steve slipped up, admitted that it had been so much longer than Danny could ever have imagined. Years.
He'd pulled back then, too. Maybe he never wanted to talk about any of this. Maybe he just wanted to finally let it happen, and never actually talk about the why, or how long it took to get here. Maybe he never wants to talk about it ever again.
A thought that curdles anxious in Danny's stomach, at how easily Steve might simply pretend it had never happened. How good he is at compartmentalizing. Maybe this got it out of his system.
Whatever the reason, Danny does. He wants to talk. He wants to know. He wants to work through these things he's feeling, that are so raw and sore from being suddenly dragged out into the light and let loose for the first time. He wants to know what it is Steve is thinking, right now, that's making his muscles tighten and head turn in on itself.
Even if he doesn't want to know, he wants to know. Whatever it is. Good or bad. "I couldn't."
It's a small enough thing to do. Go first. Say to Steve whatever Steve is having a hard time saying to him. Confess a little more. Steve said he wanted it all, before, and Danny couldn't tell him, but he can start, a little, now. "I could never let myself get that far without feeling guilty about it."
It's his turn to shrug, a little awkward, because that's not quite right, either, and he wants it to be. Right. "Guiltier."
Because that was never very far away, when he broke down and let himself try to imagine, picture, fantasize about any of this.
But. "I wouldn't have gotten it right, anyway."
Not anything about it. Steve. This room. This feeling, knotting and unknotting in his chest. He would never have gotten any of it even slightly right.