It's funny how that reference almost more than anything nearly makes him twinge. The ones he's barely comfortable admitting to himself in the silent, locked down, black lined, redacted areas of his head. Because he did say that word, and Danny tumbled into the god damn bed with him and didn't act like it was the second coming when it took half the night before they even remembered to lose their clothing and find the sheets.

Steve's only recourse really when the bottle is being shoved at him is to snap out his closest hand and catch Danny's wrist, while he's talking. Because that wasn't the point. The beer, or the apology. Though the apology doesn't actually do Danny any damage. To as much stop him from thrusting the beer at him, as keep Danny in one place, under the annoyed expression he's pretty sure he couldn't get off his own face with a fillet knife and a fourth of an inch of skin.

"I did." Especially when he's forcing himself to say words that are the least likely he wants to after the last few, but they are true. "Mean it."

He meant it when he was in bed and, suddenly inexplicably terrified in a way Danny never needed to know, about Danny being gone, and about Danny not leaving him alone. Even once he wasn't alone, for the rest of the weekend, he still would have rather had Danny with him. But other things took priority. He didn't contest that. He didn't hold anything against Grace. Especially not with what was going on with her parents now.

But even not-being-alone hadn't changed that he meant it. If anything the universe offered him the one thing he always said yes to and even that wasn't anything in compassion to the loud mouthed, angry, assumptive, idiot who was busy telling him everything he wanted was not even wrong, it was impossible he wanted it, when everything he wanted was right here.

Finally here, again. Because it hadn't stopped being Danny.

Even in the one moment he's pretty sure he will never, ever, tell Danny happened. Danny was still the person on his mind.