Don Juan was watching Hudson's reaction for any sign of disappointment. When he saw none, he almost didn't believe it. Had that actually... gone well? Or as well as it could have gone, given that he still wasn't entirely sure of either what he'd wanted to say or what he'd actually conveyed in his scattered phrases? One condition gave him pause, but then what Hudson said seemed to be entirely unrelated. Now that they'd established they weren't doing that, what did it matter whether or not he was sober? — but at the moment his faith in Hudson's restraint was far too fragile to want to press the issue, anyway. He likely wasn't going to even be drinking over here for a while, anyways, much less showing up already halfway gone.

"You'll tuck me in?" he echoed, charmed by the mental image in spite of everything else. "How delightfully domestic. But," he leaned forward again and placed one hand on the back of Hudson's neck. "I'm not under the influence of anything presently."

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