I didn't get it to get high. Sometimes you're not around, and I need to patch myself up.

[He shrugs, finally getting up and touching his nose with a hint of indignation. All of him aches, but he wants to keep feeling it. Fuck, he wants more of it, but he's already fighting back urges that Squalo's made perfectly clear are off-limits.]

Beer's in the fridge, whiskey's in the cabinets somewhere. I can move a bottle into the fridge if we're feeling fancy. Want something on the TV while we drink?