Good whiskey is still whiskey, and Kira tries to make his pull even quicker. It's a bit like being handed a Dr. Pepper when you're used to diet Sprite. Soda is soda, and alcohol is alcohol, but it's not what he's used to putting in his mouth. He scrapes his tongue on his teeth before going in for another sip.

"Thanks," he says anyway: a gift is a gift. He still doesn't know why the guy wants to give it to him. Leave and come back on me is such an odd phrasing. Kira can't decide if it's camaraderie or intimacy, and he's afraid to ask.

Probably if it were the latter, there'd be fewer assurances about pussy. Or more? Masc dudes are fucking weird. "I mean, I don't remember any of this, at all. I remember getting my head stitched up a lot less than two weeks before I showed up here with them out." Which, really, is another reason to tip the bottle for a third time.