He grabs for them, and then hauls himself up, pacing around a bit while he sucks smoke back. Despite what she says, he drinks straight from the nearest bottle. But only a bit.

'Yeah.'

She's probably not wrong, though nothing appeals.

'I'm hungry.'

Without adding more, he heads for the bathroom. Cold water, and clean teeth, and a slash - he's calmer when he emerges, like nothing happened. Because he can't keep being this weak, not in front of her, and not every time he closes his damn eyes. The only way he knows to deal with stuff is by pretending it didn't happen.

'Wanna go downstairs?'