That's because he's suppressing his terror, asphyxiating it until his fear's down to a manageable level, even while he's sweating buckets in his trenchcoat. In another lifetime, he's a chaotic evil marshmallow-egg, and in another he's a pining horse, but in this universe he's just a dumbass, glancing at the assembly of items like the gutted ingredients to a Molotov cocktail and hoisting up the bottle closest to them.

"Sure. Just steel yourself right before you take a sip. This is your first time, isn't it?"

Drinking and all. Akira's always been a goody-two-shoes who doesn't make a habit out of lacing crap with drugs. With no other reason to broker an argument, Ryo tips the base of the bottle up, chugging it down. He's only made it a fourth of the way through before he's clumsily handing it over to Akira, eyes too bright.

"Here."