Not much of a surprise that she's still up. He grunts a quiet greeting as she sets her things aside, shucking his clothes quickly, settling on the side of the bed. She's too thoughtful, like always; he gulps down the water and shuffles closer.

He's not drunk; part of taking someone out to get shitfaced is making sure they get back home safely, so he really just nursed a beer. But he's... quiet. Well, that's not so unusual.

Talking isn't his thing. Even when he feels like he ought to. After a moment he starts with something simple.

"You good?"