Chapter Text
As you pulled up to Starbucks, the car slid to a stop and Danny pulled the keys from the ignition, turning to you, “We’re here.”
You got out soundlessly, not objecting when he takes your hand and pulls you into the busy store. You didn’t think anything of it as your fingers intertwined. It didn’t matter, you were far too tired. You were tired of work and of goddamn Joan Didion’s raspy old voice in your head.
Danny ordered his whatever-with-whatever drink that he was craving, and asked you if you wanted anything. You shook your head, after all you didn’t want him to pay and you didn’t have the energy to pull out money or your card. Dan ignored you, and said, “She’ll have a Venti hot chocolate, only three pumps of syrup, please.”
Danny knew your order. More specifically, he knew that you only took three pumps of the chocolate syrup. Any more was too bitter. You looked at him as he slid over his card to the barista--you squinted at her tag, Lydia--and continued to look at him even as he started trying to talk to you. Eventually he realized you were spacey, and just pulled you a little bit to the right to wait for your drinks.
“Chai latte for Dan, hot chocolate for (y/n)?” another barista calls. Danny thanks the barista and takes the drinks, leading you to another seat. As you sat, he set the drink in front of you, and went to talking.
You were almost grateful he started talking, because you were far too distracted to speak. You kept tabs on the things he talked about.
Work.
Your coworkers.
The people in Starbucks.
The barista who took your order.
The car ride there.
Joan Didion croaked again.
I kept wishing he would talk about himself, hoping to break through the wall of rhetoric, but he seemed to be one of those autodidacts for whom all things specific and personal present themselves as mine fields to be avoided even at the cost of coherence, for whom safety lies in generalization.
You shook your head, a groan coming from your mouth, hoping to just shake Joan out of your fucking head. Danny wasn’t like that, wasn’t like Huey Newton who Joan was rasping about in her stupid essay that wasn’t even about the Beatles like you’d hoped it would be when you picked the damn thing. Danny didn’t hide behind generalizations, Danny didn’t care about it, right? Danny didn’t find personal things to be mine fields that he avoided. Danny didn’t think that way.
Did he?
Danny broke your train of thought, “(y/n)? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
You shook your head, you couldn’t escape it now, and your head hurt from the croaking, annoying, irritating voice of Joan Didion and the amalgamation of all the thoughts you questioned about Danny.
“What’s up?” he asked. His voice was gentle and understanding, goddamnit, again understanding. What did he know?
Apparently a lot, as he continued, “Are you mad about what happened today?”
“N-not with you guys,” you forced, “not you and Arin.”
“What happened?” He was leaning closer, to hear you better, to make better eye contact, to be ready to put a hand on your shoulder, your arm for reassurance.
You felt claustrophobic and moved back a bit, “After I...,” you stopped. Started over. “After I left the room to go study, Suzy pulled me aside.” There was something in Dan’s eyes that made you question what was going through his head, through yours. It made you question what the connection between Suzy and Dan was that sparked that look on him. “She...specifically asked me if it was you who had tugged me into the room as opposed to Arin. Then she made up some...bullshit lie about why. I know that she was lying, the answer was dumb. But I don’t know why she’s acting that way.”
And Joan spoke up again, causing a moan from you again even before she started.
On this occasion, I kept the radio on very loud not to find out what time it was but in an effort to erase six words from my mind, six words which had no significance for me but which seemed that year to signal the onset of anxiety or fright.
You shook your head, threading your fingers into your hair, “Make it stop.”
“Make what stop, (y/n)? Talk to me,” Danny was urgent, scared, worried for you, understanding.
Suzy’s six words. 'Nothing, I just wanted to know.'
And just like that, a headache roared in your skull and you wanted nothing more than fresh air. You forced a huff of a breath, ignoring the hot drink in front of you and Danny as you choked out, “Fresh air.” You left the Starbucks so quickly you were pushing people out of the way. You heard the scrape of chairs, heavy footfalls and your name being called by that voice. You knew he was going to come after you but you couldn’t get it to stop.
Maybe Joan, goddamn her, was right. Six words. Anxiety and fright. Generalizations. The script. Musicians. Ordinary drinks. Her voice was bouncing in your head, these words attacking you, attacking each other in a war that you just wanted to stop.
“Make it stop,” became the mantra you repeated over and over, even as Danny wrapped you into a tight embrace. You were crying, practically yelling those words into his chest, and he had a hand on your back, tracing patterns, and another in your hair, carding his fingers through it. You just wanted Joan to shut up, wanted to stop worrying about what Suzy meant by those words, wanted to stop listening to Danny talk about generalizations and just talk about himself, wanted Joan to stop being so right about everything.
Danny was rocking you gently, letting you scream yourself hoarse into his jacket. Even after you couldn’t yell anymore, he still held you close. He started singing, something soothing and unfamiliar to you, but it made you feel better.
Calm now, Danny asked you, “Are you good?”
You nodded.
“Good. Now what’s the matter? I....I’m worried about you.” His voice was so tender.
“I...can’t stop thinking about what Suzy said to me...what it meant. I also can’t seem to get Joan Didion out of my fucking head.” Thinking about it made you upset again, but Danny holding you allowed that to subside. “Every time something happens, I hear her saying something from her stupid essay and I can’t get her to shut up.”
Danny chuckled a little, not at you, but at your words. “Well, I think Joan will go away after you sleep. You need some sleep, anyways. You haven’t slept well since Monday.” You had remembered saying that to him, but you didn’t think he’d take it to memory as he had. “And as for what Suzy was saying, she was talking about the fact that I really like you.”
You gaped at him. He liked you? Suzy was being suspicious about that? Why?
“She probably didn’t want to tell you because she wanted me to tell you.”
“How does she know you like me?”
“I told her. Well, her and Arin. I was at their place the other day--” and you cursed ‘the other day’ for being anywhere between three days to three weeks ago “--and Arin brought up that I have goo-goo eyes for you. So I just...told them that I like you.”
You couldn’t stop gaping at him now. Danny liked you. Actually did. You were interested, definitely, and you wanted to get to know him better. But he liked you. Really.
You felt his hand against your cheek, pushing your jaw closed, “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”
You couldn’t stop the laugh, and he giggled out a laugh too, but didn’t move his hand. You were stuck in his eyes, looking back at you with a warmth and depth you’d never seen another person have when looking at you. Three words came off your lips now, “Danny,” he leaned a little closer, interested in what your words were going to be, “kiss me.”
He followed directions. Your lips slid together into a short, sweet, chaste kiss. It was what was right for the time, and you still felt his hand against your face and felt your cheeks warm up at the sight of his grin, a smile that reached his eyes. A smile caused only because he had just kissed you and because he adored you.
“Do you...want to go back inside and finish our drinks?” Danny asked.
You smiled, and nodded, threading your fingers together and leaning against him as you walked back inside the Starbucks. This probably wasn’t according to your script either, but if you ever found that script of your life again, you’d promptly throw it in the trash. The script was holding you back, and preventing you from enjoying stuff.
And Danny was the first step to start enjoying stuff again. You were happy, out of all the things, that Danny was your start. Danny was the best start.