Her look up is met by his headed down, and when she finds him, his lips are curling into the biggest shit-eating grin.

"Fuck," he purrs. "Can't tell you how fuckin' sexy that is."

Sweeney's hand lifts to tuck her hair behind her ear. His smile lessens, but only enough to take on a more tender affect.

"Can't really remember how long I've been fuckin' just 'cause I was fucked up an' it feels good," he admits. "Just wanna forget." His eyes roll up for a moment. "All the time." He looks back to her. "Chasin' that quiet. Didn't need names. Or fuckin' faces fer that matter." It's not his proudest moment, but it's honest.

"I think--well, fer me--what this is..." He points a finger from himself to her. "It's findin' a different way ta be. But--" He struggles for the words; they are not a strength.

"But like it's lettin' us be ourselves. Like ourselves that aren't caught up in the bullshit." He gives a small shrug as his gaze slips to the side.

"I ain't gonna say fuckin' is me expressin' myself. Or reclaimin' anythin'." His brow creases as he sorts out the idea. "More 'bout findin' myself." Sweeney's brow lifts.

"That make any fuckin' sense?" He has no idea at this point.