Ryah eyed the vampire, trying to decide if listening to him was a good idea or not. The way things felt between them felt wrong somehow. It was uncomfortable and tense, like he had stepped on a patch of prickly, dried grass and it was stabbing into the bottom of his foot, except it was crawling up his back instead. After a long moment, in which Ryah accidentally placed his hand on a sticky, wet patch on the bar counter, he decided maybe home was a good idea after all. He pulled out a couple of crumpled bills, enough to cover his drinks--though he was probably overpaying, not that he cared at the moment--and left it on the counter before sliding off. "Drake, I have to say, I may not have any experience with this sort of shit," he pronounced as he made his way for the door. "but I'm pretty sure you have some fucked up exes. Too many mind games. Even<i>I</i>know that's not normal."<br/><br/>Once they were out on the street and the fresh (relative speaking) air hit his lungs, Ryah felt a little bit better, a little bit more clear-headed. Like little yellow vultures, a few cabs moseyed up and down the busy streets of the club and bar district, looking for passengers and Ryah hailed one down; he didn't much feel like walking or jockeying for room on the crowded trains and buses with<i>other</i>drunken idiots. He glanced at Drake from the corner of his eye once they were in the cab, looking like he wanted to say something but then his eyes flickered over to the cabbie and he looked out the window, watching the streets flash past in a blur. After what felt like both an instant and forever, he was spilling out the cab and into his flat.<br/><br/>He let them into the apartment and paused before finally sinking into his couch. "I...we should talk..." he began, trailing off uncomfortably. Though the hunter really had no clue what to do or say. What was the protocol for this sort of thing? He didn't know what Drake was thinking, watching the vampire through lidded blue eyes. In the dim light of his apartment, there was a grey light to his eyes as he studied the other male. "Look, I'm not...good at this." Whatever<i>this</i>even was. He didn't know what to call it, what Drake thought it was. "But I don't know...what you want from...me." he finished, haltingly. God, he had never been good with words, and that had never been more obvious than now.