"You're not bossy." He smiles weakly, watching his empty glass get refilled. "...Thanks. I'm glad you put up with me."
Connor wouldn't mind a drinking buddy, but he'd be painful at karaoke. He can carry a tune, but his voice is naturally raspy and quiet, and prone to cracking and breaking if he pushes it too high or loud. At nineteen, it was still settling into the deeper tones of adulthood, and never quite finished. Now it never will.