“Yeah, he might drink all my fucking tea, then where would I be.”

Deadpan again, on beat for the second time. Look how on it he is when he’s had a good night. Even now crippled with existential dread about the future.

Speaking of tea, Izzy looks for his own after offering back the phone, also taking a moment to savour the warmth and aroma. Izzy keeps his room quite cold. Not for any other reason than he hasn’t worked out the air conditioning controls, but it is what it is. A hot cuppa in the morning can set most things right. So if he’s going to die, which is a distinct possibility, then at least he would have had this.

He can only hope that they aren’t about to have A Talk.