Soaked. Suga winced as he felt the damp stickiness of vomit clinging to both his shirt and pants. The fabric stuck to his skin in a way that made him physically cringe. The smell wasn't helping either— it was sharp, acidic, and unmistakable. He glanced down and immediately regretted it. Floating in the pool of pale liquid on the car floor were bits of half-digested pasta, still retaining enough of their shape to be recognizable. The sight alone made his stomach churn again.
The thought of stepping out of the car, walking into a alpha prime's mansion, and coming face to face with whoever was inside while looking and smelling like this? No damn way. Honestly, it'd be better if he just passed out right here and avoided it all together.
