"You. Several times," he said to the shut door - more mumbled, really, as he deposited his face into the palm of his hands. He groaned, wondering how bad of an idea this was going to end up being. Not the going out with Cordelia part, for they'd done that many times over the years - as friends, of course, and this was still a just friends thing, especially on her end as far as he knew - but the I could do with a couple of drinks part.

He'd had a couple of drinks not too long ago and the hangover that resulted from the binge drinking had been killer. People had been pissed off and insulted by his drunken slandering, half of which he couldn't even remember, he was so trashed. Drinking had been something he struggled with in life, finding the escape from a reality he didn't want to be a part of too good and worth the people he angered in the process. Like other bar patrons. Like friends. Like his father.

When she stepped back out, he jumped up - literally - and made a b-line for where he'd left his shoes. His eyes were rolled at her comment as he slipped them on, tongue bit down upon to keep himself from muttering something about how he'd never learn anything about women because they were all infuriating, her included. Buffy especially.

"I thought You looked nice already, but being your friend has taught me that just because I think you look nice, doesn't mean you think that you do."