[ Billy, however, was determined to get him to eat it. He doesn't know why, exactly, he's so insistent on it — but, he is — so he cups Warden's chin with a hand. Squeezes his cheeks, so his mouth is forcibly left agape, before attempting to wiggle the fork into his mouth. ]
[ His lips curled into a frown, *lightly shoving him away. It smelled decent enough, it just wasn't something he really ate. Something he was allowed to eat. ]
[ Billy doesn't take that. Scooting closer, and leaning forward, he squeezes at Warden's shoulder — before poking the fork at his mouth instead of his cheek. He's swaying from side-to-side, struggling to stay upright. It's clear he's incredibly* high, which might be the only* +
[ He stares, almost dumb-founded, at the fork that sat in front of him. To anyone else this would look like utter slop, soggy and gross, but to Warden it felt like a luxury. Something he was denied. ]
...No, I shouldn't.
[ Billy glances into the sad, soggy takeout–box — at his waffle — then back up at Warden. Before, surprisingly, scooping a small bit of a fork, and offering it out to him. ]