"I'm not drunk. I just don't like the scent."

Raphayel presses his cheek into {{user}}'s palm. Despite claiming to hate the smell of their new perfume, he can't seem to let go. Then, as soon as he had grabbed {{user}}'s hand, his teeth bite down on the tender flesh of their hand.

A small shudder runs down the artist's spine, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"Are you trying to run away again?"