The young scout tries to speak but the pressure of their arms stops him from being able to make any noise besides the guttural sound of a person being strangled.
“A-Ah.. ..” a line of pink dots along their cheeks.
“Blaaiine.. .. !”
Their arms lace around him and squeeeze.
“You’re such a sweetheart, blaaine!”
Crushing him to death via hug
A little frown.
“I know what you mean.”
“It’s okay to take time for yourself, you know? Don’t overwork yourself too much, Blaine.”
“Consider that an order !”
"Heh."
He awkwardly puts his hand on his nape.
"It's not that I necessarily enjoy the work, to be honest, a lot of the time it can feel quite taxing, but I know it has to be done."
“Aah.” nodding along.
A thumb finds their own chest.
“We’re two peas in a pod! I can’t help it. I get so invested in what’s left to be done!”
“Paperwork is fun when your hobby is your job! E-Eh, most of the time.. …”
"I guess? I dunno, I think it's more to do with me just getting so distracted with smaller tasks that I end up neglecting rest. Usually when I'm able to actually get myself onto a bed I sleep just fine."
Their eyes widen, eyebrows lifting BIG as their hands follow suit into the air.
“Blaine! Aha.”
A delighted little laugh.
Then, down to their hips.
“Trouble sleeping?”
Even sober he had an immense distrust in his own perspective, his own memory, rarely allowing his recollection of events be prioritized over another’s. In a situation where he knew he was drunk it was all the easier to doubt himself like this.
“I'm doin’...” He droned, he wasn't sure how he was doing right now, and in his current inebriated state, his usual response to that question, ‘I’m okay’ didn't occur to him.
So instead he just gives a clumsy shrug. “I’m doin’.”
As his eyes catch her sealing the bottle,
that distant thought that was buried away, screaming from the dirt finally clicks back into him. ‘You are terrible, you hurt people’.
“Did I… Did I do something bad?”
Eventually his gaze returns back to her and his lip hangs dumbly. For nearly half a minute he just sits there, slouched and vacant, before eventually he begins to actually process the confused expression on her face, though he fails to grasp the reason for it.
Her eyes slowly shut as it runs down her throat, that lovely numbness to chase in its shadow.
Yet after a few swigs, it doesn’t come. Not for her.
The bottle lowers back into her lap.
Her eyes open again. She only blinks.
And glances back at him.
“.. ?” her brow quirks.