Johnny, meanwhile, has accomplished a minor spit-take within the confines of his cocktail glass, and is now drinking the rest of the Bellini down in an effort to avoid EVERYTHING THAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. He does not want to think about the angry vampire's abs, or vampire coldness, or anything. This brunch has gone about as far as it can, in his limited experience, and he's more than happy to let Spike just escort Sunshine home. They have a lot to talk about. And so do he and Eliot. Fuck. He just drank all his cocktail. He looks around, bereft, wanting another, but all the things are so far awaaaay.