It was better than getting punched in the face, so really Jesus just rolled his eyes at Merle, completely unruffled, though he was glad when he left. Club. Of course. It was only then that Jesus got really settled again, shoulders relaxing minutely under his coat. Mostly he was tired.

Sitting next to Daryl was fine, though. As was the... kind? absolution for getting him punched. "Still. You good?" He nursed his whiskey instead of pounding it down, staring into the glass.

Eventually though, he sighed and flexed his fingers, working the joints idly. "He always like that?"

Merle, he meant. There was no judgement in his tone in any case - at least, not for Daryl.