[ He hates it, that he's reduced to this. Numbing the edges, the sharp glass fragments of memories that stick in his chest, alcohol burning it away. It isn't good to be dependent on something he doesn't need– shouldn't need. But right now, with the tremor in his hand and the creeping misery, it's a lifeline.

November takes the proffered drink, giving her a grateful little nod, a strained smile. ]

Only you can be your special brand, April, you know that.

[ They'd tried to replace her once, on his team. He'd gone to Decade, all smiles and charming words but flinty eyes and straightened that out right away. They're a team. April, July, and him. And with the rush of memories, the emotion, he has an even firmer rush of protectiveness.

Carefully, he takes a sip of the beer, not even noticing the taste. ]

I don't– I don't know what to say. [ Brows furrowed, he flicks his gaze up at her. ]

It feels like everything's dredged up. As though someone unmuted my whole life, suddenly.