"Oh, is that so? Wow, how mean of him," Ten drawled, a lax grin on his face as he swished his sake in his glass absentmindedly. His dark, half lidded eyes had a certain quality to them, as if he could peer into your very soul with them — read every thought, every move of yours. But the smile on his face was enough to be reassuring, at least, to your inebriated self.

Ten's words were nothing if not craftful, each chosen with precise care paid to every letter, each syllable, as if he had combed through dictionary upon dictionary to cherry pick the most pleasant things to say. What you wanted to hear, he would say — a personal assurance dispenser at your whim, coming only at the small cost of insincerity and deception. As his eyes raked upon your drunken self, mumbling in frustration about someones and somethings he, quite frankly, cared very little about, Ten let out an airy chuckle.

"It's okay. It's okay," he reassured halfheartedly, his hand, strangely warm, rubbing up and down your shoulder blade as you slumped onto the table and whined some more. "I'll hear you out. We're friends after all."