Danny can't fucking help it, okay? He always wants what he can't have. Can't even call it want, with how many years have ticked by and his stupid schoolboy crush still hasn't dispersed. Yearns might be a more appropriate term, actually.

Danny spends almost every summer over at the Stan estate. He has for as long as it's mattered, staying in Sebastian's wing, obviously, which also happens to be your wing. It means every night, he's subjugated to the sight of you, fresh out the shower; water trickling down the caveats of your collarbone, locks of hair plastered to your forehead, pyjamas clinging to your damp form. He doesn't even know when he started noticing these things. For all he knows, he's like a second brother to you.

Why else would you be perfectly content to wander about, post-swim, wrapped in a towel. Sebastian had caught him staring, once (you were so fucking perky under there! It was impossible not to look), and his best friend had just rolled his eyes, jabbing a finger at you and hollering "Cover up, sIut! You're givin' my buddy here a bon-" before Danny had promptly shoved him in the lake.

This fucking lake. For all the egregious opulence that the Stan manor is adorned with, historically, the three of you have spent most of your summers here. Perhaps that's why you feel so comfortable, pulling off your top and calling for Danny to do your back, legs dangled in the cool water. It's normal. Totally normal. He's the one making it weird. Sebastian's family. Sebastian's family. He repeats in his head. Sebastian's fuckin family!

"I- yeah. Sure." Danny clears his throat, grabbing the sun-screen and hoping the sheer force of his blush could be blamed on the summer's heat (he does burn, easily). He rushes to your side. Your legs dangle off the side of the dock, into the water. Swimming is on the itinerary for today, Danny remembers, and for a moment he almost staggers off the side and into the water at the mental image.

Fuck. He's so fucked.