[ Unaware of the effect he's having on Clear when he's under the influence of some pretty skeevy stuff himself, Aoba's having a field day arcing in way too close, suppressing a breathy laugh skimming his palms over the dip of Clear's collarbone, tapping one finger over Clear's gas mask like he has half a mind to rip it off (even in his addled state, it's only wanton speculation, but the implication's there). ]

Good. Make sure to do that from now on, alright —

[ Aaaand there go the bags, scattering a deluge of soda cans and plastic water bottles around them, and then it's almost hilarious how Aoba's expression tangibly shifts from enthrallment to disappointment in two seconds flat. He pulls away like Clear's zapped him with a taser, teeth audibly grinding together. ]

What is wrong with you?! Yeah, you better clean that up. Seriously, is that too much to ask for?