He'd be inclined to agree that her taste has improved — unfortunately, the universe is probably laughing its ass off at the concept, considering what's in store for them in the near future. Depending on how you look at it, might just be her taste still runs similar. Demons in denim.

Definitely wouldn't be inclined to agree with that good person label, though. Thinks he probably misses that mark by about a foot and a mile — a fact that might've had him backing out of this by now last month, last week, maybe even last night.

But tonight...

Tonight he's empty, and he wants to pretend to feel full for a little while. Wants to fill that hole where love and intimacy should be, and can't think of a single damn person he wants to fill it more than her right now.

So the glass gets blindly, absently set on the table behind him without a single sip having been taken from it. That newly freed hand drifts down to settle at her waist, to glide around the small of her back. She says she's wasted too much time waiting, so he won't make her wait any longer. He closes the distance. It's a slow trajectory, almost tender, but unfaltering. When he catches her lips, it's chaste — but it won't be for long.