His breath, his hair, his skin. It reeked of grapes and shame.
But of course, so did she. Sneaking around with him all the damn time took it's toll. One morning, she even woke up with his blood painted on his nails. His preaching and chuckles seeped into her own words, slowly. She was becoming a part of him, or he a part of her. There one could see it, in the dark blossom of their relationship, she could see the stitching that held them together.
She fought to break from it, but fought to keep it going. In she fed her time and emotion and out he churned the scratches and bruises. It was good, it was bad. It was Gamzee.