Sometimes Matt wonders how his life would have been if he hadn't met Steve all those years ago. A whole lot less happy, that he can say for sure. Mrs. Rogers had been the mother he never had, in a way, and the years at St. Agnes would have been a whole lot more lonely without the two of them.

To think he almost screwed all of that up by hanging onto a lie that was never really necessary in the first place.

For a second, he leans a little into Steve's hand, unexpectedly disappointed when it drops away. The two of them have always been intensely tactile, always hugging or leaning against each other, sitting hip to hip or lounging in a tangle of limbs. The physical contact was always a source of comfort for both boys, and it seems that has never changed. This particular touch, however, doesn't leave Matt feeling reassured. It somehow leaves him wanting more.

"Dance?" Matt does remember that childhood tradition, though he hadn't thought about Steve wanting to keep it up. Still, there's no reason not to, and every reason to indulge his friend's whims on today of all days. "Sure, okay. Do I need to put on some music? Because I've already done all the serenading I think the neighbors can stand."