His hand drops to the back of his neck, the other still holding that beer bottle, and he wishes it weren't there, so he could stuff the other into his pocket, because they feel empty, and they are both itching for -- what, to move? Or to find Steve, his wrist or arm or back, some part of him, solid and warmer than the current tone in his voice. Like Danny is too much to deal with right now, but he's going to, anyway, because Danny is making him.

Which is pretty true, so he can't begrudge the guy that.

Still, the answer to that question is, he thinks, pretty self-explanatory. He'd hated leaving Steve on Saturday, spent the weekend wondering how he was doing, and came over as soon as he could, like that could possibly make up for leaving him alone at the worst possible time.

Not that he regrets a single second with Grace. Not that he ever could. He just wishes that, this weekend, of all weekends, he didn't have to choose between them, could have somehow managed both. His hand drops, and he presses a nearly sharp breath out of his nose. "To see you, obviously. This weekend was going to suck and I felt bad I had to go and leave you alone, so I came back once I dropped off Grace."

To find that Steve wasn't alone. Which is a good thing, now that he can actually think about it, now that he's not taking Catherine's presence as an underlined clue that he was no longer needed or wanted. That there was no reason for him to bother.

But he had. Is still dressed in these stupid jeans and t-shirt because he hadn't bothered to stop at home on the way, because the beat of Steve Steve Steve was in his blood and breath and every thought past already missing Grace. "I need a reason?"