It takes him a second, which is long enough to push into two seconds - maybe three - before it sinks in that the lean is something bordering on affectionate in such a way that he is no longer buoyed by the comfortable embrace of the alcohol he's imbibed. It is a distinctly flirtatious gesture, and one he should have recognized a Hell of a lot sooner.

House. Touching. Privacy. Shit.

"Yeah, um-"

Perhaps more gently than is outright deserved, Nate makes an effort to extricate himself from her surprisingly strong grasp.

"Listen, I'm- flattered, but I'm married."