"I didn't have to do that," he chides, his voice too low for something that's supposed to be an innocent conversation. He leans forward as well, but catches himself after a moment and brings himself back, rolling his shoulders and straightening his neck. "I didn't have to do anything."

Roger's aware of the situation, oh yes; perhaps not the smartest of his family but he'd quite literally have to be blind to ignore it, practically written in neon as it is, a sign hanging in every window and every bar wall. What he isn't aware of is why he has to take every single shot. None have rendered him out of the game yet, of course, but with every conversation that passes he becomes more riddled with holes and knows it's coming. The question makes him freeze, sends an anvil straight into his stomach and no, he will not let this turn into an interrogation. Not again.

He's not quite sure what other option there is, though. Hasn't thought that far.

"Why? Do you wanna know?"

Roger sets his jaw and the story forming inside his head is surely as good as printed.