He picks up the glass and examines it and takes a drink and promptly chokes. 

"Sorry," Ashka says, "I have crappy stuff you get drunk fast on."

"That's fine," he says once he's done coughing, and drinks the rest as fast as he can. 

"So. No one else in all of Tholassia believes in our alleged god."

"Apparently that's what it looks like. He's very sure He has other believers and just can't access the belief for some reason, which is why He wants me to go to Tarev to find a natural philosopher to ask." 

"Good place to look. --Huh. Wasn't actually expecting to ever get drunk with a prophet."

If he had any more alcohol left he'd take another drink. "Don't remind me." 

Ashka can give him more alcohol!

"...what's Tholassi like?"

He thinks about it. 

"Less of a fan of torture than you might imagine, although that might have just been Dhavilot. Deeply, deeply clueless about why someone might be upset to hear that an ideal they'd worked for their whole life was pointless." 

"Pointless? --I mean, he's not the creator of the universe but lots of people serve gods who aren't the creator of the universe and are fine."

"....he does not actually approve of fasting, or at least not of me fasting, and only forbade sodomy because, and I quote, 'it makes humans feel better to hear sermons against a sin almost none of them actually want to commit.'" 

"Well that's. Fun."

"Yes." 

Ashka sits on his bed. 

"I might not approve of you fasting either, depends on how much you fast."

"I don't —" and he swallows and tries again, "I can't —" 

He sounds more than a little panicked. 

Ashka stands up and hugs him.

"It's okay."

He melts into the hug. 

Ashka is very warm. 

Navigating a person to sit on the bed with you while you're hugging them is complicated.

Fortunately, Ashka has practice.

That is fortunate. 

He presses his face into Ashka's shoulder. 

Ashka is going to pull him into a full-body cuddle.

He tries to stop himself, but — the rule doesn't mean anything anyway — 

Ashka is very warm. 

Ashka has a hand on the back of his head and is holding him protectively. 

"See," he says. "This is the best way to have a crisis."

He laughs, shaky, and holds onto him tight. 

"It's all bullshit and it's always been bullshit."

It's not. It hasn't. It can't have been. 

He doesn't argue.