Dave didn't stir when Dylan did, even when the younger man left the bed. In the early years of his stay at the Highway, he'd slept in Marijuana's bed and the Drug was constantly getting in and out of their bed at odd hours. Dave could sleep through anything, especially now that he was exhausted right down to his very core all the time, every day. He slept soundly, not moving much, just breathing quietly and being blessedly free of any sort of dreams, until, eventually, he began to stir.
It was warm in the blankets, warm in the last vestiges of sleep and Dave groaned lightly in disappointment as those last traces vanished from his mind, blurry eyes opening to take in the dingy apartment. He wasn't at the Highway, in his own apartment, he was with Dylan. It took him a moment to realize that entirely and then he was forcing himself to sit up. As soon as weak arms were propping up his weight, the hunger started. The itch, so bad that he didn't even notice the fact that all the drug paraphernalia was gone. Gnawing on his lip and scratching the insides of his arms, his sluggish mind attempted to remember where he'd left his jacket. The kitchen! Dave's mind lit up with happiness and relief and he plodded quickly toward the kitchen, toward the heroin that he knew was in his jacket pocket.
He stopped short when he saw Dylan sitting there and, spinning a ring absentmindedly around one of his fingers, Dave gave his boyfriend a shaky smile. "Morning." His voice rough, he slid into one of the chairs, reaching for his jacket, thinking that he could tell Dylan that he was looking for his cell phone. Really, he just wanted to make sure he had smack.