For what was not the first time in the day, Dylan's eyes were filled with tears, but these were not tears from the deep pool of depression he had sunken into in the past month. On the contrary, it was as if Henri had yanked him up and out of the pool, blinding him with a healing light that flooded his senses with every kind of good feeling he'd ever had in his entire life. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, every tactile experience that had brought him happiness. In that moment, he could remember Dave and not feel his heart twist into a knot. The voice in his head only rang through the others borne of the sickness in his mind, banished them, ordered them, shut them up. He shivered in pleasure, his back arching, lips parting in a gasp. His fingertips dug into Henri's skin.
"Always." He agreed, his tone clouded with something a little like despair and a little like love. "Love, love you." He rasped, "Need-" If he'd had use of his arms, he would have drank the rest of the bottle in his undeniably religious fervor. He tried to push himself to sit of his knees, failed, and slumped against Henri again, writhing against the drug, his Drug. "Sell forever." Finally, the edges of the chasm that heroin had cut through his heart were dulled, and he was happy. "Use forever. Whatever you want."