Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a beautiful night in paradise. Even Danny Williams cannot deny that. The weather is perfect. Warm and breezy with no humidity. There was a beautiful sunset a couple of hours ago and he’s pleasantly buzzed on beer, enjoying the evening with some of his favorite people. It’s been a good week. No one shot. No one even banged up.

After six years, Danny knows to take the wins where he can.

The low murmur of conversation washes over him like the waves lapping against the shore and, for once, he doesn’t feel the inclination to contribute. He’s honestly not even paying close enough attention to parse any of the words that are being spoken and he figures he’s not missing anything major. Everyone else is just as relaxed as he is and it’s a rare enough occurrence that he’s determined to enjoy it.

He’s still floating in a pleasant haze of contentedness when Flippa pulls out his ukulele and starts playing some music. It adds to the vibe and Danny closes his eyes, feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time.

A slight raise in the inflection of voices drags him out of his pleasant stupor and he opens his eyes, looking around the space to figure out what’s caused this change. It’s not bad, per se, but he feels the vibes shift.

Danny doesn’t expect to see Steve holding the guitar that Danny himself had given him months ago. The gift hasn’t been mentioned by either of them since it was given and Danny honestly assumed that Steve tucked it away somewhere and that was that. Apparently, he’s wrong with that assumption because Steve mentions that he’s gotten back into playing and is practicing a piece for the upcoming HPD talent show. He briefly explains the story he told Danny all those months ago during their stakeout, sharing that he’s a different man now and he wants to overcome that childhood fear, though he would like to try it with a smaller audience, with his ohana, first.

Everyone responds with positive encouragement and, when Steve looks in Danny’s direction, he offers his best friend a smile and a nod, pleased that his gift is appreciated and that Steve is putting himself out there like this.

He does wonder what lame 70s song they’re about to be subjected to, though he wisely doesn’t make a snarky comment about it. The opening chords of the song are unfamiliar and Danny’s brows furrow. Is it possible Steve doesn’t always have terrible taste in music?

Steve’s voice is tentative when he begins to sing.

Raise the roof, that I might see the stars
To gain wisdom, to see things for what they are
Please, I need proof

Dance till you fall
Love till you die
Shut your mouth
Raise the roof

The song is plaintive. Longing. And it hits Danny like a lightning bolt. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, as he listens. He’s certain he’s never heard this song before, can’t imagine where Steve would have learned it, but it leaves him breathless.

His eyes lock on Steve’s and it’s like they’re the only two people in the universe. Danny senses that the others are still there, that they’re watching, but he can’t bring himself to care. This song is Steve’s confessional and he’s singing directly to Danny’s soul.

Touch me again in my dreams till I feel
Touch me again till I wake and it's real

It feels like someone pried thoughts and feelings straight out of Danny’s brain and heart. Thoughts and feelings he’s tried his damnedest to keep buried because he’s not sure how to handle them.

When the song ends, there is polite applause and words of praise, even as everyone is scrambling to their feet and making a hasty exit. Danny waves a hand in acknowledgement of the goodbyes, but never tears his eyes from Steve, who is only marginally more sociable. By Danny’s estimation, it’s less than five minutes from the end of the song until the yard is clear of everyone except for him and Steve.

He finally stands and walks towards where Steve is standing. The guitar is back in the case and despite having not looked away from Steve, Danny has no idea how or when that happened. He also doesn’t care.

The two of them stand there, toe to toe, and simply look at each other for an indeterminate amount of time. They’ve always been capable of communicating without words even though Danny likes words and it doesn’t happen often.

This, right now, is a moment where words are probably necessary.

“Steve,” he says, his voice raspy with desire, with the weight of so many unspoken words, with the overwhelming emotion of the moment. For possibly the first time in his entire life, Danny Williams cannot find the right words.

It’s okay though, because Steve puts a finger over Danny’s lips. “Shut your mouth,” he says, his own voice barely above a whisper. He removes his finger and leans in to replace it with his own lips and okay, maybe this moment doesn’t need words after all.