The eyes narrowed into a glare. Part of him wanted to retreat further into the blankets and staunchly refuse to come out or drink that disgusting potion while the other half scolded him for being so childish. With a resigned groan he poked his head through the gap of the blankets, though he still remained wrapped up protectively in their warm embrace. “Fine.” He said, sounding more annoyed than he meant to. At least the whiskey would cover up the taste. Loosening the grip on the blankets Roger reached out to take the glass from Zach when he returned from the kitchen. “Cheers, then.”
It only took a small gulp, and to be honest it really didn’t taste as bad as he remembered, but Roger wouldn’t ever admit that. Grimacing, Roger placed the small glass next to his soup, feeling a rush of uncomfortable warmth. “What soup did you bring?”