Gamzee goes to a party, runs into a good-looking senior, and finds himself in a mess. Fortunately this short, shouty guy gets him out of it and talks him through the hard stuff.

The blood spurts and streaks sharply across Cole’s face, landing on his tongue, salty and sweet and coppery, before it pools and spreads, steaming, shimmering, a stark slash of red staining the once bright whiteness of the snow. With each stuttering throb of an increasingly desperate heart, Cole’s own heart beats faster, white-hot heat pooling low in his stomach, the ache stealing his breath.

He's never been able to decide if Kon does it on purpose, or by habit. It doesn't bother him. Mostly.