Duck Lake are you worth your weight in gold, cause you're behind my eyelids when i'm all alone

The chaos Mahler had caused within him faded in the silence, left him stripped bare and far too tired to do anything about it. Actually, he was too tired to do anything about anything right now; the general theme of the interaction, really. 'ITT: Alarian is too tired to do anything stupid this time'. He did notice when the other turned to look at him— and he did notice that it didn't happen again, but he thought very little of it.
He lifted his head slightly to idly inspect the man's scarred leg, remembering the circumstances of their first meeting. He recalled what he'd been doing, and the thought ached a little; he hadn't been so carefree since. Perhaps he never would be again. (Assuming his inspection was allowed) his nose brushed slightly over the scarred flesh, brief and feather-light and— genuinely unintentional. A little startled by his own slip, he turned his face away from Mahler entirely and tensed marginally, and considered just retreating entirely if the other didn't do so first. 'Correction: he's still quite capable.'