Dave practically jumped out of his skin as Dylan's elbow struck down against the table. Fingers twitching, head spinning at the weight, the enormity, of what he was attempting, Dave tensed as Dylan touched him. He didn't want to be touched; if he couldn't have smack, he wanted to curl up somewhere warm and ride out what he knew was coming. "It's only going to hurt more soon." Dave whispered hoarsely. "I have to call- I have to call in sick. I can't work today." Or for the next few days, he knew that. But he didn't want to call the Highway, instead he just buried his face in against Dylan's neck. "Can we go back to bed, please?" He could attempt to sleep, although that would be a failure, but it was better than sitting at the kitchen table thinking about smack.
At least if they were in bed, he'd be comfortable while thinking about smack.