*There's a laugh, short and harsh, at the implied insult. Then he takes back the bottle, putting it to his lips and taking a long swig, before resting his head back against the cold glass and closing his eyes for a moment.*

I suppose there are worse things to have in common.

*His voice is dry at that, and he glances towards the other man afterwards.*

He's a friend, Wright. I doubt he would say the same of me, but that does not prevent me from being concerned about his welfare.

I doubt that he would accept help from anyone, however.