That the thought of Sam being near enough to be in the same living area as him made Eliot's brows crease, but rather than snarl again, he just raked his hand through his hair. "Fine. As long as he stays away," he muttered because there was no way to change it. Instead, his attention turned to the acid jar.

"If we're gonna do this... better do it in the bathroom." Bloody was the least it would be and no amount of towels will soak up something like that.

"Fuckin' hate drugs..." As he said that, he tried to roll off the couch to his feet, but however he got to the couch in the first place, that strength and coordination was no longer there. He couldn't catch his feet from under himself at all and cut off a pained cry when he ended up falling off the couch to the ground instead.