This wasn’t charity. Think whatever you like, and whatever it was ------ August didn’t want to think about it at all. Actions spoke louder than words, and the actions of the younger agent prior had qualified for some respect. Some care. Eggsy would have been right to be off put by the gesture; this isn’t Walker’s kind of thing. He’d sooner slap you on your bad shoulder than TELL you he’d fetch and ice patch and ---- god forbid, literally do just that. A hand over without his typical brusque behavior. There’s no verbal courtesies exchanged, and frankly August doesn’t mind that at all. Keep it simple, Walker. 

                  The question he’s met with creases his brows in the slightest. Concern, feigned or genuine, isn’t exactly something he deals with well. So rather, he evades the question with a tender snort, before ------- god why ------- bruised fingers ruffle through sweaty hair just before digits slip down his cheek to give a soft pat.

                     ❝ ——- you want something to drink? Wait, let me rephrase, CAN you have a drink?❞ a joke, obviously, but he’s not going to spare him baby faced mockery just because he might have, potentially, spared his ass from a worse beat down earlier. He’s hardly waiting for a response, really, before he’d strolled ( sporting a limp ) to the liquor cabinet. Two glasses pried from above, and vodka ( his ) next. They’re both battle worn; clothes tattered, sweat and blood clinging to fabrics. None of it really mattered.But vodka? Vodka mattered. 

        Bottom of the glass meets Eggy’s thigh lightly; black and blue digits keeping it steady until the other’s taken it. Then, he’ll take a seat himself ------ across the way. A lift of his glass in cheers, before downing the whole thing in nearly one go. A second definitely on the way.