hold me like we're dying from the liquor that we drank

SUNJATA

the flood

all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red
the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed

A soda, a term that somewhat rings a bell to Sunjata. It isn’t until he says fizzy juice that something clicks, and he realizes after a long while that his head has been bobbing for quite some time. So he nips it, as soon as Nate’s offense is taken, a bark of a laugh leaving Sunjata as his eyes focus on the man snuggled up against him. “You look cute when you look upset. That’s what you look like to me.” He taunts back, an innocent grin spreading across Sunjata’s face as Nate goes into the science behind which pasta he’d bleed.

It only proves to have him snickering along with it, low hums of laughter lighting his feverish mood. No shadows here, just the iridescent sheen on Nate’s face, along his skin, paired with the dark of smoke that clings. “Capellini.” He murmurs, trying to speak of the term with an accent much closer to Nate’s than his own. It’s easier in a sense, but it still feels wrong falling from his tongue.

There’s a raise of his brow at the mention of never wearing a bow tie, some sort of surprise at trying to imagine it. But again, their worlds were different. Sunjata’s had been encased in silk and velvet with hidden daggers versus the streets. And so he hums his thoughts, quietly, to a tune only he can hear – until it cuts off abruptly with Nate’s comment, eyes meeting a single blue. “Nothing, huh?” He questions, though amusement is clear along his face. “That’s for after, is it not?” A playful wink shot Nate’s direction before his head is tilting in, a slight nuzzle given to Nate. “Be as fancy or as not fancy as you like. I'm gonna be fancy.” A brief pause, lips pressing against Nate's briefly before he pulls away again. "Then you'll have to take it all off." A smug smirk crosses his face.

i think i'm losin' too much
but there's just never enough