"Why?" It's not even a question. Not the way it comes out his mouth, solid and flat against her sense. Hands settled in a circle around the sweating beer he hasn't even thought about aside from ordering. "So, you can point out it can't be? Or shouldn't be? I've already been there, Cath. I don't need someone else to point that out."

He didn't need anyone for that. He got it in the mirror. He'd said it over and over and over again for a year.

He got it in these sudden moments that came out of nowhere, when he was walking along and suddenly stepped off the fucking cliff. Because he knows he's shitting on nearly everything that mattered. Has gotten fucked, literally and figuratively, so far over the line he's going to need far more than a flash light to get back. That nothing may be enough to do it.

Because at the end of the day, and in the morning when he wakes up, it's wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong.
God. It doesn't. Whether Danny is there, or just the faintest smell of him on a pillow. It's everything he wants.

Everything. Even when it's in conflict with every single bit of who he is, and who he swore to be, and what he should do.