"Ask again?" Glibt questioned quietly, but then Paul entered the kitchen and Glibt fell silent, wondering about the apologetic look from Harvey, but figured that his questions would be answered eventually. Or soon. Glibt searched for a way to busy himself and ended up grabbing a glass from the cupboard so he could mix screwdrivers for all three of them; yes, Paul was underage, but he had the feeling that they would all need alcohol in order to get through this.
And, yes, Glibt's alcohol-related hunch was proved true and valid when Harvey took off his watch. Glibt's eyes zeroed in on the scar, the scar that had resulted from one of the first shots Dan White had fired at Glibt's then-lover. Glibt had known they were there, yes, but to see them was different, very different, and, in a rush, he felt like Cris again, standing in their apartment after hearing the news, feeling lost, abandoned, and so very angry. Nauseated, Glibt tried not to look startled or upset, although he did pale somewhat and his lips pursed as mourning and anger chased themselves around in his mind.
But the top of the drink shaker slipped from his hand and the sound of it hitting the tile floor jolted Glibt unpleasantly back into the present; he knelt down quickly to pick it up, murmuring an apology. By the time he stood, he was very much Harvey Stonewall again, that lost little boy of his past shut up tight in the back of his mind, even though Glibt still felt like crying over what had been done to his activist, his martyr. This was not about him and his issues when it came to Harvey, to those scars; no, this was about telling Paul something that could harm his psyche if they weren't careful.
To keep his mind off past hurts, Glibt set himself to work at mixing the drinks, refilling his glass, Harvey's glass, and setting one on the counter for Paul to drink once the mortal was finished helping with dinner. Taking a long sip from his own glass, he set it down, smiling calmly, supportively, at them both, not insulted by Paul's glances in his direction. "Is there anything I can help with?" It was a double-edged question, really; he did want to help with dinner, but he also could try to start Harvey off if his friend didn't know where to begin.