Gamzee laughs at that, a quick cackle that dies down to a barely voiced chuckle. "You're all over rubbing off, brother. Getting down with your bad self all on me."

A pause, a blink, and he's even closer, a hair's breadth from touching. "You like it. Got yourself full up with the wicked want for this brother to be hanging all on your words. On your wicked self. Feels motherfucking good for me to get my respect on of you."

And he's not entirely sure of this, but he thinks that's it. He doesn't really know why, but the thought settled all around in his pan and it feels right, up like so many things felt right before.