He shut his eyes for a moment. Poe felt completely different than Manabu and he was profoundly relieved by that fact; he wasn't sure he could handle this kind of contact if it had been a reminder of what used to be. But there was still genuine care and compassion going on, which he felt unworthy of and craved in equal measures.

Denying that he was going to drink would've been an exercise in futility. Instead, he sighed, "It didn't used to matter if I drank or not. Nobody was around to notice. I really have cut back since I realized it was hurtin' people here, I have, it's just... it's not easy, sometimes, trying to move on. I miss him, Poe. I miss him so much."

Oh, shit, now he really was getting teary eyed; he drew away to take his glasses off and swipe at his eyes, quietly furious with himself. He used to be so much tougher than this. Four or five dead people he loved ago he rarely cried at all. Now he barely needed a few words to get it going. "I need a fucking drink," he muttered despondently.