The middle‑aged, going-soft-around-the-middle Ryan Randall set the bottle down on the counter with a hard thunk, his face deadly serious. He was obviously drunk off his ass, like he'd just taken some massive hit that forced the booze down for a moment.
His breath came out with a seriously high alcohol content.
"Look at your face, doc. You know I'm back, right? Did Raphael tell you?"
John took the initiative to speak, only to see the other man give no reaction.
Ryan folded his arms across his chest, his expression getting uglier by the second. His heaving chest made his balding head wobble, his eyes sweeping over John's face again and again.
"What?"
John spread his hands. "Either come over here and give me a hug, or stop standing there like that. You're making me uncomfortable."
Ryan blinked and lowered his gaze, his whole demeanor visibly dimming.
John noticed.
"Hey, hold up! What's that supposed to mean? Me not being dead is some kind of disappointment to you?"
