*winces a little as his stomach does a little flip (and it's partially anything to eat but mostly that pregnant pause)* Think I'm okay without the food for the moment. But thanks. *looks you in the eye* Really, thank you.
*stands slowly and stretches, shuffling to follow you to the kitchen, thinking he can't wait to go home and shower but at least a combination of water and coffee might stop his mouth tasting like dead things*
At least the music was good? I think? *stops in his tracks (because that's made him think of Yates and that makes a few other memories—well, images really—surface)(that can't be right)* Oh what the— the h— *is momentarily distracted by a sneezing fit*