By the time Will is approaching, two glasses have been filled halfway with dark amber liquor, and Rust is twisting the cap back onto the bottle. He doesn't sit on his bed with a sideways eye on Will, watching him critically for politeness as he removes his waterlogged shoes -- Rust doesn't give a shit. His sense of ceremony is personal and private and does not extend to those around him. Will could have brought half his dogs into this apartment, for all Rust cares. He can recognize the real intent of disrespect, and Will completely lacks it, in everything he does.

Rust has never been in Will's home, so the shared detail has just enough of his surprise to give him pause, and the hint of a smile in one corner of his lips.

"Our similarities just keep stackin'," he muses, taking a glass for himself. "Which, as you've noted in the past, fails to show for certain whether that's good, or bad."

From just around the bottle standing on the table, Rust can see Will's face quite well, with the single light source in the room being a lit lamp next to his bed, behind him on the farthest corner. Will, on the other hand, may see more a crudely-detailed silhouette, but he will be missing nothing happening on Rust's face. While the light in the kitchen remains on, it feels separate from this space, like a street lamp beyond the striping of cheap vinyl blinds. He takes a sip of whiskey, pauses to swallow, and gazes down into his glass as it hovers just below his chin. "You here to talk about tonight, or are you...tryin' to escape it?"