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Desmond wanted to blame the damn lack of sleep at the surge of emotions that hit his chest from Ocean's words; the worry and nervousness that Desmond was keeping something from him. The pillars of conviction that this would all just some bug that would blow away with time crumbled beneath him as Ocean pointed out that even Desmond himself didn't believe his own words. Slumping down in his seat and setting his forehead against the cool table, keeping his hand in Ocean's with another soft squeeze. "I miss coffee," he muttered, as if that explained everything. "I'm tired all the damn time and spaghetti smells like dog shit."