[Not too hot at all, actually. That's one of those San Francisco things he's finding is true - it just doesn't get hot here. He doesn't miss the east LA heat in summer at all, where sleeping through the day means often waking up all sticky and sweating. Here, the days stay cool, even here in July.
Well, either that or all the rumors are exaggerated and the two of them have hit a coincidentally perfect temperature for their trip but anyway, it's great. He presses comfortably against her back and drapes an arm around her waist, with his face buried against the back of her head.
He's asleep before he knows it, but he doesn't simply wake up without some knowledge of time passing. Rather, his dreams are strange and vivid - the tail end of the mushrooms probably. He spends a long time staring at his own reflection in a black pool, which warps and bends and spreads his face across the inverted cosmos and all its stars until there's nothing left of the him that once was, and all there is is black, ready and waiting to devour another.
So he's a little less than thrilled with being held captive watching that by the time he wakes up, and he groans, slapping a hand across his face as the late afternoon sunlight hits.]
Ugh, what the fuck.
[Probably time for coffee and a smoke to clear his head of that weird shit.]
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[Not too hot at all, actually. That's one of those San Francisco things he's finding is true - it just doesn't get hot here. He doesn't miss the east LA heat in summer at all, where sleeping through the day means often waking up all sticky and sweating. Here, the days stay cool, even here in July.
Well, either that or all the rumors are exaggerated and the two of them have hit a coincidentally perfect temperature for their trip but anyway, it's great. He presses comfortably against her back and drapes an arm around her waist, with his face buried against the back of her head.
He's asleep before he knows it, but he doesn't simply wake up without some knowledge of time passing. Rather, his dreams are strange and vivid - the tail end of the mushrooms probably. He spends a long time staring at his own reflection in a black pool, which warps and bends and spreads his face across the inverted cosmos and all its stars until there's nothing left of the him that once was, and all there is is black, ready and waiting to devour another.
So he's a little less than thrilled with being held captive watching that by the time he wakes up, and he groans, slapping a hand across his face as the late afternoon sunlight hits.]
Ugh, what the fuck.
[Probably time for coffee and a smoke to clear his head of that weird shit.]