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it feels, for a moment, like all the air has been ripped from danny’s lungs.  the facade of cool surety splinters harshly as dylan’s words wash over him, unbearably loud in spite of their actual volume.  between the look on dylan’s face and the tone of his voice and the way guilt settles deep in his own bones, danny has never hated himself as much as he has in this moment.  he shouldn’t have let this happen, shouldn’t have allowed anyone to gain leverage over him, shouldn’t have even gotten this attached in the first place.  every ounce of him just wants to stop, to pick up the phone and call merritt and tell him they have to call the whole thing off, they have to find another way, he wants to give in to the only good man who’s ever believed in him and explain  ——

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instead though, he swallows hard and draws himself up, pulling for the indifferent arrogance that has never worked on dylan, because the alternative to doing so is unacceptable.  he’s done this to himself, and he’s not the only one who will pay if he doesn’t follow through.  the way his chest tightens like he’s about to cave in on himself and he has to swallow past traitorous emotion that threatens to close his throat is irrelevant now. 

“ i — ”  for the first time in years, danny doesn’t know what he means to say, i don’t want this.  i have to.  instead, he shakes his head just slightly, body tensing as if he’s already preparing to run.  “ i’m sorry dylan. ”

how did they keep ending up here? with dylan, holding shattered pieces of himself because he’s put his trust in a conman he’d decided to care for enough to choose blind faith over sense? he rejects danny’s apology as soon as it hits his ears — no, no, no, if you’re not sorry enough to not do this, you’re not sorry enough — but it’s enough to shake him, force him to take a step back, look away and cover the side of his face to prevent danny from seeing how close his expression is to meeting its breaking point. a deep breath, a promise to himself that he can let this out as soon as he’s out of here if he can just pretend like he’s still one complete man in front of daniel. he opens his eyes, slowly, carefully, and lowers his hand with the same caution before turning to almost face danny, eyes locked even if his body is still turned halfway to protect itself.

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WHY? ”   dylan shouldn’t ask this: the amount of answers he can get for it that have the potential to make him hate himself are close to infinite, but some part of him that can’t let go of the love he feels for danny clings on to the hope that there’s something, anything the youngest atlas could say that would make him understand, make this all alright.  ( or at least, make watching him go easier. )   “ what’re you getting out of this? what was worth throwing this away? ”   there’s a pause and dylan tries to cover his meaning with a hand gesture around danny’s flat, but the meaning is already hanging in the air:  what was worth throwing me away?

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