Roman knows he'd hate it if people kept giving him a Look, the same one they gave to Kendall, the same one he accidentally flashed at Raylan: 'poor thing, he really can't handle the pressure of everything, look at him hit rock bottom, what a sad man.' He hates that he does, hopes desperately that Raylan doesn't notice. Luckily, the other seems pretty tunneled in to handling Flint. It worked.

It's weird, seeing an authority figure crumble. Weirder seeing that same person knit themselves back together with every single nod, every breath, even if it's only temporary. He's fairly certain it's probably not the first time.

"Uh-huh," Roman says after Raylan speaks, unobtrusive and quiet for once in his life as he follows the other's lead. He's not much help--not really, not practically, he hasn't been to a personal trainer in six months--but he hoists and lifts and doesn't even open his mouth to complain. Small tasks. Focused tasks. Keep Raylan busy.

He can't help but slide that look over at Raylan again, just once before they get Flint situated and Raylan has nothing left to occupy his hands with. Probably, Raylan should have some water, Roman realizes, but he's already putting his hands on his hips and clearing his throat.

"So, before you go out and do--whatever it is, put on your little cowboy spurs, I don't know--" he's nervous. Reaching a hand up to scratch at his face. "--can we, uh, can we like, talk...?"