Silence is not golden, Steve thinks as he sits down in the chair next to Danny’s hospital bed, eyes wide as he takes in his partner’s pale, still form.
Steve lets his gaze drop to the bandage covering the knife wound on Danny’s abdomen, taking Danny’s hand, carefully pressing his lips against bruised knuckles.
“Danny,” he mumbles, but there is no reaction; Danny’s eyes stay closed. Steve’s lips keep moving lightly against Danny’s hand, murmuring against broken skin.
Stillness doesn’t suit Danny, Steve thinks, everything about Danny is noise and movement; from bitching about Hawaii to questioning Steve’s sanity, from you Neanderthal animal to babe, from breathless gasps and loud moans at night to sleepy kisses and soft touches in the morning, always there, always noisy and in motion, and Steve craves it, needs it like the air to breathe, needs it to fill him up and chase the shadows away.
Steve jumps when he feels Danny squeezing his hand gently, eyes flicking back up to Danny’s face.
“I always knew you secretly loved my rants,” Danny mutters hoarsely, a small smile playing around his lips. Steve chokes out a laugh, nods.
It’s the best thing he’s heard all day.