[Hey... he'd been drinking that. A sigh and he lifted his hand, ordering two whiskeys and two beers. Whatever John didn't drink, he would. He lit a cigarette, pack out on the table for John to take from if he wanted. He stole another drag from the joint that seemed to burn extra slowly while it was set down so as not to waste it, feeling the rush of nicotine, alcohol, and that low aphrodisiac and calmer that he was enjoying so much run through him.

Leaning back, he looked over at John as he spoke, watching the way his lips moved and remembering other things those lips could do...

A moment and he snapped himself out of that, clearing his throat.]

Right, so 'it's not you, it's me'. Thought we covered that. I'm not going to run off into the night or fling myself off a bridge, mate.

[He looked down at his leg, finger teasing over a slight tear in his jeans, worrying at the fray.]

Might have wanted to repeat it, but I'm not a girl at prom.