no subject

( He briefly considers throwing himself out of the window, but it is instead with herculean effort that he gets to his feet to at least get his room looking less like he has lain his own corpse down to die. Empty wine bottles are hidden away though he keeps a half full one in his lose grip at all times, drinking from it sporadically. It isn't messy, but it's ... gloomy. The bed unmade, robes thrown aside, books scattered where he'd knocked into them earlier, the window covered by dark fabric to block out the light.

He paces clumsily, device in hand, wondering if he should find a way to dissuade the other man. )

I really will be fine.

( It's no good, he's not sure he will be either. )