[He looks down at the glass again, taking it with a slightly irritated swipe of his hand. His expression is locked up again, all frustration and anger after her little speech. He doesn't drink it though, slides it onto the island instead, looking away from her and leaning on the marble surface.

He knows it would make things easier between them to tell her, but he just fucking can't. He doesn't want to have share time, he just wants to tuck all this shit away nice and neatly, where it's been tucked for the past two years, and he can go on just fine being a good friend. She's right--it wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt and he's just not in the mood to think about his dead brother. Maybe she even deserves it, deserves the truth. (She does, he knows she does.)

His breath is shallow and slow as he stares into space for a long moment, and then he picks up the glass and drinks most of it before pushing it away from him.]

Look. [He turns his head, just enough to put her in his periphery. His voice is hoarse from the alcohol, and harsh, and he hears it. It's why it softens noticeably as he goes on.] It's a long fucking story, Blaire, and I guarantee knowing it won't make any of my being a dick better. But if you want to hear it, fine.