And once again - when Herbert steps away, Solin watches him like he can't bear to stop, like he's trying to memorize every part of him.

He takes the glass gratefully in shaking hands, taking a drink, the water turning pink from making contact with his lips and tongue. It's a struggle for him not to choke, to try and stifle his cough.

He is quiet for a moment, leaning on Herbert.

"I'm... I'm glad you came here tonight, Herbert." He struggles to keep his composure. Trying to be strong. "Today has...has been.... difficult."

A cough shakes him, and he fumbles for the rag in his pocket, once unbleached white cloth...now completely soaked, stained dark red.

This particular night is likely to start to be all too familiar.