"You" had, he says again. "You" had a cat. Because there's apparently a version of him that did in fact have something that loved him, that he actually knew what to do with, that he didn't smash or shoot or--

It's hard to believe, honestly. And at it being said so frankly, just like he'd fucking asked for, there's that urge to hit something again. It comes a lot, lately. (It's always come a lot.) Perfect example of why it couldn't be possible that this "other him" was remotely like him. "Other him" probably didn't have the urge to punch people, walls, whatever was in range every time he got a little upset.

Making his hands into fists, he turns further away from Steve, shoulders hunched up in frustration. "I'm not. Him. It probably wouldn't be safe with me." It probably wouldn't even like him.