At the very least, Kavinsky wasn't looking to get anyone, himself included, in any sort of legal trouble related to drinking. The fake ID he'd dreamt up was, for all intents and purposes, entirely valid. Which was a good thing, because even going to sleep for a few minutes, in and out like a thief, he'd been able to feel stress and anger and misery pushing at the edges of the dream, threatening to twist it into a nightmare. He wouldn't want to have had to make a second attempt.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Still trying to wrap my head around this shit." He wasn't sure, entirely, what was expected of him. He wasn't someone people turned to when they needed a hero, he wasn't particularly strong, just average, and- he didn't know. He'd had enough on his plate before, teetering on the brink of destruction, watching all of his hopes crumble around him. He wanted to sleep but not to dream, wanted to get so shitfaced he couldn't remember how deeply rejection had cut him. He wanted to not think for a while.

Instead, he couldn't stop. Instead, he said, "Well, that works out, cause I was gonna ask if you wanted to go first. Let's start it simple; assuming I wasn't the only one who got the creepy whispers, did you have any inclination to listen to the one that kept promising power?" Simple, he said--though he was also suddenly aware of the fact he didn't know if there were any immediate differences in choosing, if maybe Ash hadn't, actually, chosen to follow the power whispers.