Jack's arm relaxes, lets Ennis lean back, and though Jack doesn't lean with him, the bed dips and creaks a bit when he shifts to watch Ennis. His expression is impossible to see above the dim white shape of his undershirt.

"Hey now, that's the whiskey talkin'. What've I told you 'bout shuttin' that bastard up, huh?" He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck.

"Stuff matters."