Roman kept the lounge chair from scrapping across the floor at the very least and while keeping Flint's heels off the floor was just as good, it took them a few good minutes of solid effort and some very unattractive grunting, along with Raylan stepping up onto the bed to better haul James's weight. Getting the man down was just as ungraceful; Raylan's legs felt like rubber bands and it only took a wobble for him to fall, barely missing James and swearing sharply under his breath as he untangles himself.

"Don't fuckin' ask me if I'm okay," he grumbles before Roman can say anything.

But they did it, they got him on the bed, mostly properly aligned. Raylan stared for a short few seconds before he walked back into the living room, looking over his shoulder at Roman as he heads for the kitchen.

"That was my plan, matter of fact. Can't let you leave without one, for a myriad of reasons. Come sit down," he says with a gesture at one of the two barstools that were tucked under the island. What came next was undoubtedly expected - two glasses and his magically refilling bottle of whiskey.

"Have you talked to John yet?" No dance, no subtlety, and no open door left by Givens for questions about how he himself was doing. He had responsibilities and no matter what he was feeling, one of those massive feelings was worry over Roman.