Yes, I shot up. Do you really want to fight about it now? For a moment --because the look between he and his bruder really did last far, far too long-- it seemed as if they would fight about it. Cocaine felt himself becoming instinctively defenseive under Heroin's gaze. He could talk for ages about how he had every right to shoot up, just as much (if not more) than any mortal on the street. They'd had what was possibly one of the worst weeks of his life, and yes, damnit, he'd wanted to shoot up when it was all over. If Heroin wanted to be angry with him for it, then they would have it out. It was what they did.
But then it was over. Heroin and Marijuana disappeared, leaving Cocaine standing in the front of the Highway, debating whether or not he really could make it home that evening. It wasn't very much of a debate in the end. He was exhausted and once the energy he'd built up for a fight left him he just felt tired again. There was little chance of him getting back to his club that night without getting the Ferrari into some sort of accident.
Besides, popping an Avinza and sleeping so close to his bruder... well, it was likely the best sleep he would have had in some time. Morphine metabolised into heroin, after all, and he would see their sister in the morning. For now he would partake in his younger brother's hospitality, if only semi-willing to do so. Cocaine scrubbed a hand over his face and patted his pockets, just to make sure the pills he wanted so badly were still there. It was only once he'd confirmed as such that he slowly followed his siblings upstairs.