You have no idea what’s going through his head right now. All you’re trying to do is be friendly and pretend you’re actually good at interacting with people.
Why is it always so hard.
Danny is… strange, but in a good way. You really wouldn’t mind bumping into him again, given the chance. He’s more interesting than anything else you’re encountered around here. But that might be a little of your own fault.
Offering a little smile back, you grab a mug to make yourself some tea- coffee can wait until you’re working again. “Join the club, man. But it’s alright, I’d appreciate that. Because, you know, I actually want to look like I haven’t been working for 12 straight hours”. Pausing, you ask, “Want tea? Or coffee, got that too”. You… actually don’t mind the nickname, for a change. Just the way he says it is… different. “…I think it’s… almost protective. Of whoever lives inside. Like it’s a safe place. I don’t have a problem with it, Dan”.
That makes you smile, knowing he’s happy with it. It’s know skin off your back. It’s something about his smile you really like. But you’re still a little unsure, like always. “No worries. I don’t mind”, you assure, leaning against a counter, arms folded loosely. With a raised eyebrow, you stare at him. “…Thirty? You’ve got to be kidding me. Dude, you’re doing good if you’re thirty”, you praise. It’s true too. But it’s probably just one of those things. The comment makes the tips of your ears turn red a little. “…Thanks. But yeah, gotta agree with you, a nice choice”.
It’s easier when you just want to haul someone in bed and fuck them silly. That, you’re known for, you know what you’re doing, you know the end goal. But this? Usually you come out and say it, and work from there, so the other doesn’t feel coerced or trapped later on- that’s tradition. It saves both parties heartbreak. But he looks like he’d break if you said anything too emotional…
This is gonna be harder than you thought.
Of course you’ll be back, though. This is your land, your house, your blame… Very little here isn’t yours. Even the Skittles are yours.
You edge away from the sink as he goes about making tea, tugging at the worn flannel keeping you somewhat warm. Oh, it’s always cold. 12 hours of working? Humans aren’t supposed to do that, are they. “No, I’m okay. Thanks, though, Barry.” You can’t keep his name off your lips. It’s like rubbing your hand over new, soft fabric, good and simple. His really, really accurate idea of the spirit of the house makes you smile, big and wide and almost heartbreaking. “Yeah? …Yeah, that’s what I- what I always thought. It’s a good place.”
You smile around colorful candy, and you’re always delighted by the strong sweetness from being so small. Everythings put altogether, intensified. It’s good. “You keep me hooked up with these, and you’ll never have to pay for security.” Three story demons can take care of robbers and such. Thirty? Three thousand, four hundred years old, and still a pretty boy. “Aw, thank you, babe!” Oops. “I try to hold up my shockingly good looks and buttchin.” You watch him go red, and smile, eyes going a little lidded. “Hey, I can appreciate a solid name. Barry… Krrramer. Nice. Thanks, baby.” You’re doing the thing. You’re so bad.