His eyes widen a fraction as Angel speaks, saying some shit that he wants to argue can't possibly be true, that runs the risk of making him spiral with how fucking sweet and earnest it is and how undeserved he feels to have anyone say those things to him. Despite his efforts, there's a moment where it shows on his face how unsure he is about hearing that from Angel, from anyone, and a flush sweeps across his cheeks. He wishes he hadn't set the drink down now, suddenly wishing that he had something to hide his face in.

It's not helped at all when Angel leans in closer, enough to smell the drink on his breath and the lingering smell of scented soap from earlier, somehow more intimate than any perfume or makeup that the sinner might have put on.

Blitzø swallows, hard. A part of him that's been running almost his entire life is screaming to do it again now, leave because this is so much more than he deserves and he is so, so much less than Angel does. The words stick in his throat and choke like bile, but he swallows them down all the same, tries to remember that Angel is the one choosing this and that he knows what he wants.

He still can't find words and instead pulls Angel into an almost desperate kiss, a rough clash of their mouths and his lips parting as though his tongue could push the words directly into Angel's mouth. When he breaks is, breathing heavily and feeling more unbalanced than alcohol could ever be blamed for, Blitzø manages some form of an answer.

"Stay. I... wanna stay."