The sensation of glass against his feathers, or fingers as he thought of them, never left. But soon enough, a cool touch against his lips brought him out of his intense focus. So close and yet so far as his wing held itself steady as if waiting for something. Going all in with a shrug, Neil parted his lips as usual for a drink, and as if it was an automatic reaction, his wing finished its task. Tipping the glass far enough for a small sip.