[Wingy guy. Tanner's basement. Amazing view. The words are a bit of a jumble to him, and he tries to piece them together as Cain talks, to make sense of the saturated tangle inside his own head, the fog he's trying to see through. The words sink into him, though, when Cain says leave the patch, and though his hand flutters briefly upwards again, this time he disregards the other man's command. Damp and uncomfortable yes, but better than seeing reeling disgust and bone-deep fear written in the other man's face. Better than have him turf him out into the still-falling rain.

Never mind that, not so long before, he'd been the one telling Cain to keep away.

The younger man's hand catches around the bird-bone of his wrist, and he goes easy to the scattering of cushions and blankets, sinks down into them without having to be told. Draws his knees up, arms slung over them, chin dropping down to the crook of his elbow. His one visible eye a bright glitter in the dim light.]

Amazing views, eh? Of the sea...I can taste the salt in the air from here. It's...well. Every port is different, of course, but I've been to so many that they all have a feel of home about them. Even here.

[His voice, still slightly slurred, turns wistful at the end.]