Settled and no longer in as much danger of falling (stools were dangerous but he had practice in the last several weeks of balancing himself on them at bars), R propped his face on his hand, mugging at Jehan. "You are the Gothic one, mon cheri, and the Romantic! They go hand in hand, I think. I am simply depressing. It is much less poetic." He poured himself another shot when Jehan put down the bottle, knocking it back as well. "We are both morbid in our own ways. You are poetic, I am a realist. It is why we get along so well."
And, speaking of them getting along, his feet found the rungs of the stool and he pushed himself up, balanced precariously but well enough to lean across the counter and steal a sloppy kiss from Jehan. He was just tipsy enough to lack the kind of finesse he was capable of, but not so much that he had no ability at all.