Cecil has had a few drinks, it's true; but he feels that he has a pretty solid handle on his spatial relationship with the world right now. He feels assured that he is not imagining the nearer proximity of Carlos' face to his. He is fairly confident that this was intentional, on his part or Carlos', and that the meaning of distance or the size of the world in relation to them has not changed. (It is always important not to rule out other possibilities.)

He puts a hand up - the one not holding his drink, of course, that would be awkward and ridiculous - and puts it on the side of Carlos' face. It is an anchoring kind of gesture - Cecil, ensuring that his depth perception is not deceiving him, and the number of inches between their faces is as small as it appears to be.

(There are very, very few inches between them now. Carlos' skin is warm, and his hair curls around Cecil's fingertips.)

"...That's fine," Cecil says. More quietly than he says most things. It feels like there is not enough space between them even to contain the words he is saying. He keeps saying them anyway. "That's fine! I... I'll stay here. With you."

He swallows, and repeats, more quietly still. "...That's fine."