Lewis gets to his feet with a confidence in his sobriety that gives out when he's upright. He hitches himself up against the wall and waits for the floor to even out, and Kellerman, sort of leaning on the couch but mostly prone, laughs. He finishes his drink and rolls to his feet.
"Younguns," Lewis says, with feeling. Kellerman laughs again. He leans in to put Lewis' coat around his shoulders and is close, suddenly close, pressing the fabric smooth against his chest.
Kellerman pats his cheek and Lewis can smell the nicotine on his fingertips. It's driving him crazy.