"'Severe shellfish allergy' doesn't really cover it," Sam replies. If Nathan wants to keep this light, Sam'll oblige, at least for now. He sets his beer down on the coffee table and heads into the kitchen for some paper towels and a cotton towel. He grabs a plastic bag and fills it with a few ice chips and water as cold as he can make it, then wraps that in the cotton towel. Then he gets the paper towels nice and warm and soapy before he makes his way back in.

"Here, c'mere, get that shit away from your face." He gently nudges the beer away and, with surprising gentleness, starts to dab the blood away from his face.

"You look like you fought a mountain and lost," he notes.