"All in one piece," Jack reassured him quietly, in a tone that betrayed his own relief to even be able to say that, roaming hand drifting up into his hairline and skritching softly. "Upset, but on this side of the draft without much more than a few clinic check-ups."

All right, so it was a massive understatement of the way the last few days of the draft had actually transpired. Zevran wasn't in fantastic shape to be taking any of that news, and whether Jack liked it or not, there was a certain beautiful logic to relieved drinking and just being together again. But for safety's sake, he opted for steering Zev down into his recently-vacated chair, settling him into it with a grip used to supporting unsteadiness and a thoughtless prattle optimised for obscuring just how awkward these processes were.

"God, fine, I'll join you," he huffed, more wry than annoyed. Good, both thighs on the chair - both shoulders . . . hell, it was hard to stay objective and clinical and a little pissed off when he was leaning over Zev, maybe a foot from his face, just being saturated with how here he was. So he was drunk too, not to mention probably a bit the worse for wear. But who among them wasn't?

He swallowed, then questioned, voice dropping to the register that meant only uncertainty. ". . . I hope it isn't too soon to kiss you?"