my brain has atrophied
It seriously has. Human contact? What? Doing things other than writing and watching teevee? I have no idea what you're talking about. (Michael's doesn't count. Michael's never counts. Michael's from 4-Close tomorrow. I'm psyched, except not really because I hate it.)
***
"I can take it from here," Danny says, and Alan hears Jason laugh back in the car, a laugh that sounds just the way Jason's smirk looks, and Alan has to fight the urge to stick his tongue out.
"Tell him I'll see him on Monday," Jason says, and once Danny shuts the car door, he pulls off down the street. The two of them stand there, staring at the taillights, until Danny chuckles to himself. He has one arm around Alan's waist and balances the other on his own hip.
"Let's go," he says. "You need your beauty rest." He pulls Alan's free arm over his shoulders. Alan doesn't protest because despite all his previous plans and insistence, he likes Danny. Danny is warm and funny and has pretty eyes.
"You have pretty eyes." He says it out loud while they're standing on the porch. He's entranced by the way the porch light picks up the flecks of grey, and Danny looks up from sorting through his key ring to give Alan a peculiar look.
"Thank you," he says. "You have a startlingly low tolerance for Scotch."
"Mine was better," Alan says with a pout, and just for that, he barely helps at all as Danny drags him up the stairs to his bedroom. The sluggishness doesn't put Danny off. Alan's just about done trying to find ways to put Danny off, because none of them seem to be working and he's had boyfriends and family members who haven't helped him home after a night out like this so leave it to Danny fucking Stevens to decide to play Patron Saint of the Drunk and Sloppy right when Alan was so sure he was done with this infatuation.
"Into bed," Danny says. He peels off Alan's shoes and socks and pants and shirt and then wraps him in blankets and instinctively turns off Alan's alarm clock.
"Oh my god, I love you," Alan says, eyes wide.
"You would have remembered to do it on your own," Danny says dismissively. "Either that or you would have slept through it and I would have come stomping in at seven am to yank it from the wall."
Alan doesn't know how to push past the drunken fuzz in his mouth to explain that, no, while Danny turning off his alarm was nice and all, the realization is more along the lines that Alan loves him and that is really going to throw a wrench into that whole "no relationship" thing.
***
Sometimes, for no reason I remember the following two things and giggle:
Scully: (to Spender) I don't care what you do or who you do or who you have the grease!
(That makes me laugh a lot at work when customers get snotty.)
Also, DD singing, "The X-Files is a show... dodododododo dodododododo do do do... with music by Mark Snow.... The X-Files is a show... dodododododo dodododododo do do do... with music by Mark Snow...."
Oh man. The good old days.
***
"I can take it from here," Danny says, and Alan hears Jason laugh back in the car, a laugh that sounds just the way Jason's smirk looks, and Alan has to fight the urge to stick his tongue out.
"Tell him I'll see him on Monday," Jason says, and once Danny shuts the car door, he pulls off down the street. The two of them stand there, staring at the taillights, until Danny chuckles to himself. He has one arm around Alan's waist and balances the other on his own hip.
"Let's go," he says. "You need your beauty rest." He pulls Alan's free arm over his shoulders. Alan doesn't protest because despite all his previous plans and insistence, he likes Danny. Danny is warm and funny and has pretty eyes.
"You have pretty eyes." He says it out loud while they're standing on the porch. He's entranced by the way the porch light picks up the flecks of grey, and Danny looks up from sorting through his key ring to give Alan a peculiar look.
"Thank you," he says. "You have a startlingly low tolerance for Scotch."
"Mine was better," Alan says with a pout, and just for that, he barely helps at all as Danny drags him up the stairs to his bedroom. The sluggishness doesn't put Danny off. Alan's just about done trying to find ways to put Danny off, because none of them seem to be working and he's had boyfriends and family members who haven't helped him home after a night out like this so leave it to Danny fucking Stevens to decide to play Patron Saint of the Drunk and Sloppy right when Alan was so sure he was done with this infatuation.
"Into bed," Danny says. He peels off Alan's shoes and socks and pants and shirt and then wraps him in blankets and instinctively turns off Alan's alarm clock.
"Oh my god, I love you," Alan says, eyes wide.
"You would have remembered to do it on your own," Danny says dismissively. "Either that or you would have slept through it and I would have come stomping in at seven am to yank it from the wall."
Alan doesn't know how to push past the drunken fuzz in his mouth to explain that, no, while Danny turning off his alarm was nice and all, the realization is more along the lines that Alan loves him and that is really going to throw a wrench into that whole "no relationship" thing.
***
Sometimes, for no reason I remember the following two things and giggle:
Scully: (to Spender) I don't care what you do or who you do or who you have the grease!
(That makes me laugh a lot at work when customers get snotty.)
Also, DD singing, "The X-Files is a show... dodododododo dodododododo do do do... with music by Mark Snow.... The X-Files is a show... dodododododo dodododododo do do do... with music by Mark Snow...."
Oh man. The good old days.