[Maybe it's the fact that since Rex is both inebriated and unprepared for a visitor, but intimate? Yes, certainly. The haughty bravado is gone, giving way to a more nervous and shy version of the hero. Timid would never be a great descriptor for the explosive enthusiast, jumpy might be the better word.

He's flustered by the visit, because while his crippling loneliness has been dialed up to twenty in this place, there is an odd sort of comfort to it. It has been predictable since Rex has been alone with himself so many times before, and if he wants to be pathetic, he can do so outside the judgmental gaze within someone else's visual periphery.]

I dunno.

[It's an honest answer. He has no idea how many people or how frequently, but it's definitely happened. It had to, for-]

The couch cum-stain incident definitely comes to mind.

[Even in his alcohol addled state, he's able to (nearly) slur out that shitty play on words.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looks in the direction of the "kitchen," which admittedly is difficult to see in the darkness. Unfortunately, Rex's eyes have totally adjusted to it.]

Uh...

Do you want a beer, or somethin'? Fuck, where'd my matches go...