That little flare of anger in the wake of Neil snapping back is better than feeling purely apologetic. It's cleaner and purer, that burn of indignation: like fighting or gin. It's that that brought him here, mostly, but it doesn't last right now like it didn't then, and Grantaire sits down heavily, just tired and alone.

He has no fucking clue where Edgar is or if he'll be back home tonight. He's already replaying his words in his head, regretting what he'd said, regretting a million things he hasn't done or has, wondering what it would take to wake up another person entirely. It feels like a very long time in his head and he startles when Neil comes back out; he hadn't expected him to.

Neil sets down a bottle of water and Grantaire manages a small wry smile. "You don't have to be kind to me, you know," he says, but his tone is soft, and when he screws off the top, he finds he's thirstier than he thought.