Sy laughs, slightly muffled as he reaches up with one hoodie sleeve (gross, but fuck off) to wipe his mouth. "Got practice tomorrow morning. Y'know that?" He turns to face his sister, but a little too quickly—his brain lurches in the too-small confines of his skull, and Sy is bent over again, to throw up on Rosy's shoes.

"I think 'm done," he mumbles. He... probably needs to burn this hoodie now.