[There are worse ways he could be hurting himself. He's not picking fights, he's not trashing things around them or losing his shit quite the way he was back in the asylum. Mostly, he's just-- tired. Some sort of bone deep wariness that's hard to ignore. He doesn't regret turning down paradise if it means Steven's-- here. Alive.

But he just wonders how many more hits he can keep taking on the chin and still keep getting up after. It's not the first time he's wished he could be as hopeful as Steven is about things... that this is in any way a good thing, or that he even deserves good things. Maybe tomorrow will look better.]

... Alright. [Alright. He tosses back his last drink and puts it down, nodding. Better stop while he's still able to walk... in a mostly straight line, at least.] Let's save looking for clothes until tomorrow, okay? But-- we can see about toiletries. Some toothbrushes, at least...