Dave shrugs and makes a swipe at Jason’s glass lazily. “Jus’ stupid shit. Too complicated fer y’to understand anyway.”
Jason picked up his glass, holding it out of Dave’s reach before bringing it to his lips. “Try me,” he insisted.
Dave scowls and lowers his hand. “…I’m a time traveler. This is how I cope with PTSD from a fucked up sunofabitch apocalypse deal that I went through at the ripe old age of thirteen. It’s a bad night. Now gimme.” He grabs for the glass again.
As strange as that sounded, Jason had actually lived through weirder shit. Again, he held the glass higher, out of Dave’s reach. “You can’t just demand someone’s drink,” he said.