"I didn't talk you into shit, you sentimental fuck." Miller shakes his head, one frail hand pushing its bony knuckles into Kovacs' side in a way that can be felt even through his layers and the gloves. "Come on, let's go raid someone's booze." He still hasn't figured out who the moonshine belongs to he found in the kitchen, but once he finds out it's made by a vampire kid who can't even get drunk he won't feel bad about taking it (not like he does now anyway.) He's practically herding the other man back into the Inn, nudging at him ineffectually until they're inside. The sudden heat is like a shock to his system and he laughs even as his nose immediately starts running. God, weather is fucking weird.