As a clear voice rung through the tangled, smokey haze of his brain, Draco felt like he had been slapped with a gust of wind.
He didn't say her name. He could only squint slightly at her, as if she were a mirage to him. With good timing, the bartender slid a fresh tumbler of whiskey just beyond his finger tips. Edging his wrist forward so that his fingers could curl around the dark amber liquid, Draco exhaled evenly through his nose.
"I--" he stopped. His voice was too dry, his lips had stuck together slightly before parting. Self consciously, Draco felt his misery expose itself on his face. He didn't need to run his hand across his forehead to feel its sticky sweat, like a greasy porcelain. He didn't need a mirror to know how radiant she looked in comparison to his broken down self.
Pausing to compose himself, Draco straightened up and tightened his hold on his tumbler.
"I'm... unwinding." He wondered if she could smell the cigarette smoke on him. "What are you doing here?"