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The knock would receive no answer from the man within, only the sound of footsteps across the floor before it was swung open wide, revealing Finn with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. He wasn't quite sure who to expect at his door, but if he'd had to guess he would have thought it would be Fini or Abbi or possibly even Jack if the other man had been feeling remotely sociable.

It wasn't any of those people, but Finn's lips curled up in a smile nonetheless, as smoke curled in wisps around his face before rising into the air. His eyes, as always, were dark and cold, though his voice was amiable enough when he spoke, though the sentence started with a half laugh, half scoffing sound.

"Enjoyed being my slave so much you decided to come back for another round? Didn't peg you as one to delight in being the submissive bottom." He backed away from the door, gesturing for the other man to come in, noting in his head how slightly....off, the other man looked, but not bothering to ask about it just yet.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm sort of in this committed relationship thing with somebody already, and I'm not sure she'd approve. I can call her up and ask, though." He shrugged his shoulders, reaching up to his cig as he took a long drag from it, removing it just before letting the smoke out of his lungs in one long, slow exhale.

The alcohol was sitting on top of the dresser, just where it had been during their little party when Ian was the butler, only the bottle was a slightly different one, and nearly three quarters full. Finn had had to do a bit of bartering to acquire it, but he only really drank when he had company.

Such as now.

His smile shifted, down turning at it's edges when Ian snatched away his cigarette. If the man had asked for one, he probably would have given it to him....for a price of course. However, his calculating gaze took in much, and it wasn't difficult to see that something was bothering Ian, his eyes dark, his face suddenly taking on a soft, red hue. Finn had only been joking around, much in the way he always did, but it seemed something that he had said had struck a nerve....Or perhaps a nerve had already been struck, and he had only exacerbated it further.

He shelved that particular idea away for now, as he continued to study Ian with a narrowed gaze, accepting his cigarette back without a smile, taking another long inhale himself.

"Are you sure? I could probably convince her if we invited her to join in." He was still joking, but nothing in his tone of voice would indicate as such, his words coming out as he exhaled the smoke that had filled his lungs.

At the mention of booze, he made a gesture towards the dresser. Several plastic cups sat stacked next to the bottle of whiskey itself. "If you're pouring yourself one, might as well get one for me too." He said, while moving towards the window to ash his cigarette, pushing it open further to help air out the room.

"So what's the occasion? You feeling the need to celebrate some particular cultural holiday, Hadji?"

Well something was definitely eating the other man, and if it wasn't the short "No" that gave hint to his current mental state, the way he poured himself a much fuller cup of whiskey and downing it, before downing the second, and then pouring himself a third, had Finn's eyebrows rising.

"Ya, right. What do we have to celebrate anyways?" He shrugged, eyeing the other man a little more carefully now as he took his own cup of whiskey and tipped it back, not bothering to sip on it like he might have at other times but instead draining it in one go. Ian seemed pretty intent on drowning himself, by the way he was going, and rather then stop him, Finn felt like he would just try to keep up.

The whiskey burned all the way down, which reminded him of the cigarette still in his hand. He put that back between his lips and reached to take the bottle of whiskey away from Ian, if only to make sure he got another cup full before the other man drank it all. Then, handing the bottle back, he made his way over to his dresser, pulled it open, and rummaged around until he found another hidden pack of cigs, though this one was also pretty nearly empty.

Whatever, it was better then nothing. He pulled it out and drew out one of the cigs, moving towards the window to ash once again and exhale smoke into the still air outside. He then went back to Ian, holding out the cigarette in offering.

He didn't need to ask any questions, but that didn't mean he couldn't gauge Ian's reactions to things said. Something about Fini had seemed to irritate the other man, so was their somebody Ian was attracted to but failed to get in the sac with? For some reason he felt like it had to be more complicated then just that.

So, continuing his line of thought on holidays and celebrations, "The occasional wedding, I guess. I've heard some of the other hunters have done so, for whatever short time they would have together before dying some horrible death. Funerals? Though hardly something to drink to, I would think." He raised his cup, almost like a toast, before downing it as well.

Finn held his cup out after swallowing down it's contents, expecting Ian to give him a top up. The whole situation was beginning to feel slightly bizarre to Finn, who never really thought of himself as the person that other people came to when they were in a rough situation, and he could tell that Ian was most definitely in a rough situation. He was never considered that guy, that good friend, and he had to wonder at what the other man had been thinking when he had come to his door.

And then, of course, it clicked. The way he tipped back the alcohol, the way he was now smoking when Finn was certain he had never seen the other man smoke before. That was what he had come for. For an escape, that he knew Finn could provide. It wasn't for a friendly face (like Finn even had one), not for a serious discussion about the meaning of life or whatever other bullshit friends talked about during an existential crises. It most certainly wasn't so that Ian could cry on his shoulder.

No. He was just going to drown himself and then possibly pass out on his floor or move on when the bottle was empty. In some ways, that realization gave him both a sense of relief, because now there were no real obligations on his behalf to pry, or pretend to care, and indignation, because who the hell did he think he was, coming in here to take all of Finn's booze?

But beyond that, Finn was still watching for the other mans reactions, because despite their no longer being obligations, he was still curious, and he wondered whether he could figure this out without actually asking. The flinch, the way he turned and grabbed for the dresser top.

And then that one word uttered from the other mans lips, and Finn asked anyways.

"Who?"

Ugh. There was a man sitting on his floor looking like he was about to cry.

Awkward.

Finn immediately regretted his question, regretted the fact that he had a morbid curiosity to simply know things, despite the fact that it was obviously a thing that was hurting a friend of his.

He also regretted the fact that Ian was drinking him out of whiskey, and before he joined the other man on the floor, he topped his cup up, and leaned down to top up Ian's as well, before putting the bottle back on the dresser and turning to sink down on the floor beside him, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling as he let the name ring through his mind.

Shiloh.

He hadn't know the pink haired man well, but he had considered him...well, a close acquaintance if nothing else. He seemed like a good guy, friendly, always cheerful, the do good all the time type. The true hero type. The kind of guy Finn sort of wished he could be, but knew that it was impossible for him to achieve such pure, goodheartedness.

He took a sip of his whiskey, swallowed it down audibly, and then spoke.

"You two were....close, I take it?" He couldn't often remember seeing one of the men without the other, and while he'd had some passing suspicions about the both of them, it wasn't something he'd really considered fully before, and he still wasn't sure he cared to do so now.

"Well...drink up." He shrugged his shoulders. It was the best advice he could give.

He was thankful for the no tears. So thankful he took another long swig of his drink to celebrate, enjoying oh too much how it felt to have the alcohol cut a burning path down his throat, only to leave him basking in the warmth that spread throughout his chest. He could feel it's affects now, dulling his senses ever so slightly, giving his brain that wonderful buzz that seemed to slowly melt away all of his worries.

"Friends. Are we friends, Ian?" He didn't really know why he asked. Curiosity, perhaps. "If I were to come to some unfortunate end, would you find some other poor soul to mooch booze off of, and drink until my death became more bearable to endure?" His head rolled to the side, towards the other man as he listened to the rest of what Ian had to say.

"Wait, somebody on the island killed him?" That was a very jarring bit of information to be told, and it had Finn frowning, the glass that was just about to be raised to lips again dropping down to chest level once more.

And then he snorted out a laugh, and lifted the drink up again to tilt back, but not before saying. "You and me both."

With that drink downed, he set his glass on the floor. That was enough, for now. He was not interested in getting drunk beyond the pleasant buzz he was currently experiencing. "But sometimes it's better to direct that hate towards a more deserving target. Tell me, who killed him?"