[He’s almost out, he realizes as he drinks most of the content in the glass. He’s almost out and it does very little for him. Dante already has a very high tolerance, but for some reason he feels like he needs something to dull the edge of what he’s going to tell her.

Whatever the whiskey is lacking, however, her proximity comes to catch up. Her voice, usually husky, seems to pick up on notes that lap at spots in his head that shouldn’t be even regarded. The warmth that the drink sometimes brings if he had enough isn’t present, but the form sitting on the chair next to him is causing his breath to come out just a little heavy.

He smiles at the addendum, risks a glance at her when he feels her eyes on him. And it would have been easier, a lot more so, if the memories from before were the only thing running on the back of his eyes. It would have been easier to just look at her head on and ask “so, what do you know about demons?”

The fact that he’s now picturing himself tearing her clothes with his teeth is enough to not do that, to take a deep breath instead, lean back to create some distance and frown at the now empty glass - don’t tell him it’s poisoned or something.

He clears his throat.] First things first. [Another, voice first coming out rough.] I’m going to be honest - I don’t dislike at all what... happened between us there.

But, I really don’t like that it did happen. I tend to avoid [a wave of his hand] you know. I’ve got my reasons for it.