“Aye, that I do. And that’s only natural for people. You find your routines, your patterns, and then you spend the rest of the time bumping into the same few people. But you never know when you’ll need a friend. But that sounds entirely too practical for what it is. Sometimes I’m just partial to good company,” Cid’s voice takes a pleasantly surprised lilt as the other man flexes for him.

He allows the bottle to be taken, happy to hand it back and forth as they sip together. Cid tucks his arm around Vander’s broad back and rests his head on his shoulder. It was shameless of him, and it would be something he’d puzzle out when the sobriety came. But that was for later.

“I hear I’m trouble either way. And I hate to disappoint.” He gives his forearm a squeeze before letting his hand wander over Vander’s knuckles.

“But I think you’ll get along just fine. You a proper fighter, then?”