If it weren't for the alcohol coursing through his system he would have turned up his nose at Frederick offering to hold his hand, but as it was, and with how strangely vulnerable he had felt back in that club, he took it. In his mind he liked to maintain this image of straightness and strength, perhaps for himself more than anyone else. He told himself that it was because he had to always compete with his perfect older brother, refusing to believe that he was in any way weak and vulnerable. Getting beaten by a bunch of ignorant assholes had dealt a heavy blow to his pride, nearly as heavy as the blows they had given his body. It was a little frightening to think that something terrible could have so easily happened to him again, but Frederick being there, watching over him, made him feel much better.
He intertwined his fingers with Frederick's once they were alone in the elevator and slowly shook his head. "No." he had been asked that question before, by his brother and father on separate occasions and in the end he always gave the same answer. "I've moved on. I'm not angry anymore." he glanced Frederick, having a moment of surprising sobriety. "Part of my rehabilitation was weekly counseling. It was the best part of it all, better than walking again. They helped me let go of my anger, helped me get on with my life instead of getting sucked into a cycle of violence and rage. In the end I survived and that was the best retaliation there is." he leaned back against the elevator wall.
"Fuck, I'm hot." he put a hand to his face, feeling the heat radiating off him. I need to go to bed, need to sleep this off." he blinked a few times then looked back at Frederick again. "Where are we? This isn't Haven."