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Steve had this way of leaning too close when people talked to him. Danny hated it. Not because it meant anything, obviously, it didn’t, Steve was just Mr. Charismatic Navy SEAL, all smiles and dimples when he wanted to be, but because it made other people think they were special.
Tonight, at Kamekona’s shrimp truck, the special one was a pretty brunette with a badge from HPD. She laughed too loud at something Steve said. She touched his arm when she handed him a beer, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Steve, the big oblivious idiot, smiled back, warm and easy, like he didn’t notice how her hand lingered or how her eyes sparkled a little too much when she looked at him.
Danny sat at their table, jaw tight, fingers drumming the wood. He told himself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business. Except his blood pressure apparently disagreed, because he could feel it climbing with every second she leaned in.
“Earth to Williams,” Chin said from across the table, watching him with amused eyes. “You’re gonna drill a hole if you keep staring like that.”
Danny scowled. “I’m not staring.”
“Sure,” Kono chimed in, smirking around her fork. “You’ve got your death-glare locked on, Danno. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.”
Danny bristled. “Death-glare? I don’t, I’m not.” He cut himself off, snapping his gaze down to his beer, muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Except Steve chose that exact moment to come back, setting two bottles down, one in front of Danny. Like always.
“Got you another,” Steve said, casual as ever, like this was routine. Which, of course, it was.
Danny looked up, tried not to soften, and failed. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Everything okay?” Steve tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. He always noticed when Danny was wound too tight, even when nobody else did.
Danny almost said it. Almost let the frustration spill out. You don’t have to grin at every cop who bats her eyelashes, Steven. But he bit his tongue, swallowing the words with a long sip of beer instead.
The conversation carried on. The team laughed, Kamekona teased them all, but Danny stayed quiet, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. The way Steve leaned close to hear him when the noise rose. The way his hand brushed Danny’s arm when he reached for the hot sauce. Small things. Familiar things. Things he didn’t share with anyone else.
And then, round two.
The brunette came back, this time straight to their table, bending toward Steve with a smile way too bright for Danny’s liking. She leaned in, talking too close, laughing too easily, like Steve was the only man in the world worth the effort. Steve, of course, turned toward her with that open grin of his, chatting about something Danny didn’t even catch. They laughed together, and when she laid her hand on Steve’s arm again, Steve didn’t so much as flinch.
Danny’s teeth clenched. His hand curled into a fist against his thigh under the table, nails biting his palm as if he could anchor himself there. He couldn’t lose his temper. He had no right. No claim. Just a storm tightening in his chest as Steve sat there, oblivious to the torment a few inches away from him, and kept laughing, kept talking, kept flirting, obviously, with her.
He tried to look away, tried to focus on the condensation sliding down his beer bottle, on the sound of the waves in the distance, anything but the way Steve’s shoulders shook when he laughed, the way his eyes lit up when he leaned into her joke. Danny hated himself for counting the seconds until she finally got bored and moved on.
By the time the brunette finally waved goodbye and headed off, Danny felt ridiculous. Like a teenager sulking over the prom king’s attention. He pressed his lips together, forcing his pulse to settle, willing the heat in his chest to cool.
Steve nudged him lightly, eyes flicking over. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”
Danny rolled his eyes, too sharp, too fast. “Maybe I don’t always feel like yelling over your giant head, did you think of that?”
But Steve only smiled, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating ease, the kind that made Danny feel both comforted and cornered at the same time. “Good thing I like it when you yell.”
Danny groaned, muttering something about needing patience, but he felt the corner of his mouth tug upward in spite of himself. He caught Steve watching the slip of a smile, and Steve’s grin widened instantly, warm and unguarded, like Danny had just handed him a gift.
Danny thought he was done with it, that he could just swallow the ridiculous jealousy and let the night pass. But apparently his brain had other plans, because an hour later, Steve was across the table laughing at something Chin said, and Danny was still stuck watching him.
The way Steve’s head tilted back when he laughed, the way his hand curled around the neck of his beer bottle, forearm flexing. The man didn’t even have to try, and people looked at him like he hung the moon. It was infuriating, that easy magnetism, that unthinking glow that pulled eyes without effort.
Danny shoved a fry into his mouth like it had personally offended him, chewing too hard, glaring at the table like it was to blame.
Steve caught the movement. “You okay, partner?”
“Peachy,” Danny said, through gritted teeth. “Never better.”
Kono snorted into her drink, muttering, “Sure you are.”
Danny shot her a glare. He wasn’t jealous, okay? He was a grown man with control over his emotions. He wasn’t about to—
“Who was she?” Danny asked abruptly, before he could stop himself.
Steve blinked. “Who?”
“The officer you were talking to. With the hair. And the laugh. You know who I mean.” Danny’s tone was sharper than he intended, the words landing heavier than he meant them to.
Steve tilted his head, confused. “That was Officer Lehua. She worked with us on the smuggling case last year. Why?”
Danny scoffed. “No reason. Just curious. Since she was all over you like you were the last surfboard in Honolulu.”
The table went silent for a beat before Chin cleared his throat and mumbled something about getting another round. Kono followed him, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
Now it was just the two of them.
Steve leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You jealous, Danny?”
Danny barked a laugh, too quick, too defensive. “Me? Jealous? Please. Don’t flatter yourself, Steven.”
Steve didn’t look convinced. He folded his arms, watching Danny squirm. “You’ve been sulking since she left. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
Danny’s mouth worked, but nothing came out at first. His heart was hammering, palms sweating. He could walk this back, make some sarcastic joke. That was safer. That was normal.
Instead, what came out was: “I just… don’t like watching you smile at someone else like that.”
The words hung between them, heavier than the humid island night.
Steve’s expression softened, almost painfully gentle. He leaned closer, voice dropping low. “Danny… the only one I’m smiling at like that is you. You just never notice.”
Danny froze, breath caught in his throat. For once in his life, he had nothing to say.
Steve smiled, small, private, and tapped his beer bottle against Danny’s. “So relax, partner. You’ve got nothing to be jealous about.”
Danny stared at him, pulse racing, and thought maybe, he’d finally lost the argument for good.
Danny was still staring at him, bottle forgotten in his hand. Steve’s words replayed in his head, looping, knocking the air out of him: The only one I’m smiling at like that is you.
“That’s… that’s a hell of a thing to say, Steven,” Danny managed, his voice low, rough.
Steve didn’t back down. If anything, he leaned in closer across the table, elbows resting on the wood, his eyes locked on Danny’s like there was no one else in the world. “Yeah, well. It’s true.”
Danny huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, trying to find some ground to stand on. “You can’t just, say things like that. Not with that face. It’s dangerous.”
Steve’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “Dangerous for who?”
Danny groaned, dropping his face into his hands for a second. “For me, you big idiot. Do you ever stop to think about the effect you have on people?”
There was a pause, and then Danny felt it, warm, solid, Steve’s hand sliding over his on the table, anchoring him. His fingers pressed lightly, not grabbing, not forcing, just there.
Danny looked up, startled, and Steve was right there. Too close, too steady.
“I think about the effect I have on you,” Steve said quietly.
Danny’s throat went dry. “You don’t play fair.”
Steve’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Neither do you.”
For a suspended moment, the air around them seemed to thin. The noise from Kamekona’s truck faded, the laughter of strangers dimmed, and it was just them, Danny’s pulse hammering, Steve’s gaze soft but unyielding.
Danny swallowed hard, leaning in just slightly. “People are staring.”
“Let them,” Steve murmured. He didn’t move his hand away. In fact, he shifted it, turning so his palm pressed flush against Danny’s, fingers slipping between his in a quiet claim.
Danny’s chest squeezed, the jealousy, the frustration, the years of biting his tongue all coiling together into something he couldn’t quite name. He exhaled, a shaky breath, and whispered, “You’re killing me here, Steven.”
Steve’s smile softened, almost tender. He squeezed Danny’s hand, then tugged lightly, drawing him an inch closer across the table. “No, partner. I’m saving you.”
Danny let out another laugh, small, nervous, but real. And he didn’t let go.
Danny didn’t let go of Steve’s hand. He told himself it was because Steve hadn’t let go first, that it was easier to just ride it out than make a scene. But the truth was, he didn’t want to. Not anymore.
Kono came back with fresh drinks and raised an eyebrow at the sight of their joined hands on the table. Chin shot her a look, something halfway between amusement and warning, and they both sat down without comment, though Danny caught the smirk Kono tried to hide behind her glass.
He wanted to yank his hand back. He really did. But then Steve’s thumb brushed over his knuckles again, subtle, steady, and Danny stayed rooted.
They carried on like that, Steve laughing at a joke, Danny muttering under his breath, both of them acting like nothing had shifted, when in fact everything had. The current between them was unmistakable now, humming under every look, every touch.
By the time the night wound down, Danny’s nerves were stretched so tight he thought he might snap. When Steve stood and clapped Chin on the shoulder, told Kono to drive safe, Danny felt himself moving before he even thought about it.
He tugged Steve aside, down the wooden steps of the truck, toward the beach where the moonlight spilled across the sand. The surf was loud enough to cover them, the glow from the shrimp truck a distant blur behind.
Danny stopped, finally pulling his hand free, only to shove both hands into his hair, pacing a few steps. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, Steven? Sitting there, saying things like that, holding my damn hand in front of everybody like it’s nothing.”
Steve followed, calm as ever, but there was heat in his eyes now, sharp and focused. “It’s not nothing, Danny. That’s the point.”
Danny froze, words tangling in his throat. He stared at Steve, the waves crashing behind him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have a comeback.
Danny’s heart was hammering so hard it hurt. “Careful, Steven. You’re about to cross a line you can’t walk back from.”
Steve’s hand came up, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the side of Danny’s face, sliding back into his hair. His touch was steady, unhurried, a promise more than a question. “Good,” he whispered.
Danny let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the sound shaky in his own ears. His own hand came up, covering Steve’s at his cheek, grounding them both, though the ground felt like it was tilting beneath him. He could feel the warmth of Steve’s skin under his palm, the faint tremor in his fingers betraying how much this moment cost him too. “God, you’re impossible.”
And then Steve kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t reckless. It was slow, sure, everything Danny had been afraid to hope for. His lips were warm, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, the kind of kiss that didn’t demand but offered. The night air wrapped around them, salt and heat clinging like a second skin, while the surf crashed like a heartbeat in the distance. Steve’s hand stayed firm at the back of his neck, drawing him in, steadying him, while Danny’s lips parted against his without thought, only instinct. For the first time all night, there was no noise, no jealousy, no biting words left between them, only the quiet truth neither had dared to say until now.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Danny whispered, his voice rough but laced with a smile, “You realize this means I win, right?”
Steve huffed a laugh against his mouth, breath warm and close, the sound vibrating between them. “If that’s what it takes to keep you here, then yeah, Danny. You win.”
Danny smiled, breathless, his chest tight but lighter than it had been in years. The weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying seemed to ease, loosening in his chest. His hand lingered at Steve’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly against his skin, as if making sure this was real, that Steve was real.
“By the way,” Danny muttered, half serious, half teasing, “you might wanna tell your officer friend you’re not available. Because I don’t think I can stand watching her touch you again.”
Steve’s laugh was low, quiet, and ridiculously fond. “Noted.” His eyes softened as he leaned in once more, voice dropping to a murmur. “Guess I’ll have to make it obvious, huh?”
And this time, Danny was the one to lean back in.