Marijuana sighed happily with the touch through his hair, feeling a jolt of love - not the free love, just love - shoot through him. Calming, soothing, beautiful, just like Hippie. "Always, always." He murmured affectionately as she climbed over the back of the bench. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in gently against his side as he plucked the joint from his fingers, wanting to keep the contact and never let go.
He watched her toke and slipped his backpack off to rummage through the top layers to find the vials of liquid THC, making sure the Glock stayed hidden from her sight at the bottom. He didn't want her to know he'd changed that much or, at the very least, have the evidence available right in front of her eyes. Bringing out two bottles of fruit punch, he twisted off one of the caps and handed one to her, his eyes flickering with sadness as she mentioned their - no, hers, never his, not anymore - LSD. "He wasn't healing here." He murmured quietly as he unscrewed the one of the vials that contained the liquid THC. "He needed to get away," From me. "And he'll come back. Better, with his colours." For a moment it sounded like he was trying to convince himself but he called up mental smoke to block out the part of him that wanted to cry every time LSD was mentioned.
Instead, he simply poured the liquid THC into her juice bottle and gave her a soft smile and a peck on the cheek before drawing back just a tad to mix his own drink.