He'd apologize for putting her through this if he was lucid enough to realize that he may have crossed a boundary that shouldn't have been crossed. But, childhood friend. A childhood friend that is very warm. His filter is gone.

He'll be so sorry about this in the morning, but right now the words were just... escaping his lips without even thinking about them. Yet he hears his name so he pauses, looks up to her with a sad look.

"I always do." It's... a brutal kind of honesty. Because he does worry, a lot. It's just usually he's able to hide it behind a mask of dry humor or false apathy because it's draining. But that settling against him feels nice so it's a semi-decent distraction. Especially after she hugs him. That takes a minute to process.

As do the words, which he is not sober enough to fully appreciate. So he'll just hug back and try to remember them for when he's sober. Though he does mutter into her shoulder. "May need t' remind me in the mornin'."

Because, yeah. He realizes he isn't fully there right now.