Feeling his stomach drop away, instantly he submits to regret at suggesting anything but positive motives. This man's brought him things he's yearned for — comfort, companionship, understanding — but accepting is just as hard as enduring when Blake's stood on his own for so long. Physical vulnerability's something he can't hide, but emotional vulnerability he doesn't ever hope to express around others even when well. At least not without good reason.
(And why isn't this a good reason? Well, because it's him and he doesn't matter. Not like other people do. A litany he'd thought he'd left behind, and yet it gnaws at him here in his bed where he feebly bemoans his exhaustive state of restlessness once more.)
"Thanks," Blake mutters, shamefully. He stares at the kitten and it stares back, slow-blinking and yawning as if nothing in the world could bother it. In response, he smiles for effect like the animal cares if he acknowledges its efforts and then Blake carefully moves to sit up. It moves with him and resettles.
"Prob'ly not advised," he admits when he's upright enough, but he still takes the flask and turns it in his hands, inspecting it briefly before taking a sip. It stings like always and he crinkles his nose only because it's been so long since he'd indulged in hard, straight liquor.
Sliding the image he drew out from under the cat, he looks it over while he passes back the flask. "Wouldn't call this 'conjured,' 'though. It was— a gift." Supposedly.
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(And why isn't this a good reason? Well, because it's him and he doesn't matter. Not like other people do. A litany he'd thought he'd left behind, and yet it gnaws at him here in his bed where he feebly bemoans his exhaustive state of restlessness once more.)
"Thanks," Blake mutters, shamefully. He stares at the kitten and it stares back, slow-blinking and yawning as if nothing in the world could bother it. In response, he smiles for effect like the animal cares if he acknowledges its efforts and then Blake carefully moves to sit up. It moves with him and resettles.
"Prob'ly not advised," he admits when he's upright enough, but he still takes the flask and turns it in his hands, inspecting it briefly before taking a sip. It stings like always and he crinkles his nose only because it's been so long since he'd indulged in hard, straight liquor.
Sliding the image he drew out from under the cat, he looks it over while he passes back the flask. "Wouldn't call this 'conjured,' 'though. It was— a gift." Supposedly.