It's one of those nights where Raylan has gotten Willa's permission to sleep somewhere else and he was almost starting to not feel guilty for it. Almost being the key word. He still hadn't heard more from her on how she might feel about Neal coming home with him, and he was torn about the choices that laid in front of him. Sprawled on the couch with Neal's head in his lap, Raylan considers his newest glass of whiskey with a pensive face, off hand brushing back and forth on Neal's chest, before looking down at the New Yorker.

"I was thinkin'. 'Bout you leavin'.. I think its time for me to go too. To go back to the real world... That wouldn't.. take the shine off anythin', would it?"