James still wasn't quite the picture of health-- better than when he'd first arrived, but whatever paunch he'd once had couldn't quite be built back up by a mere couple weeks of eating actual meals. His ribs could be felt when pressed.

Of course, having that pressing hand there is starting to really register in James's sluggish, drunken mind as A Thing. A Thing that he's not sure how to think about. He feels light-headed, and kind of on the verge of overheating.

Swallowing, he tugs at his collar.

But doesn't lean out of the semi-halfassed embrace that they'd found themselves in.

"W... what? No, of... f'course not..."