Buildings shouldn’t change so much in the space of seconds, shouldn’t be so dependent upon residents to hold up the architectural intent, but they were; the Highway hadn’t been the Highway while Marijuana was gone. Heroin had hated their apartment the most for the betrayal, but with Marijuana within the same four walls again, the place suddenly turned into home again. There was probably meaning hidden there – beyond the obvious – but Heroin studiously ignored it. There were limits – even to Heroin’s fluidity – and poetic truths about sense of place after Marijuana’s quasi-disappearance – because knowing he was gone meant he wasn’t really - and the chains of togetherness wrapped around his Self was far past the boundaries of possibility. Which was a first; Heroin mused as he took Marijuana’s jacket and neatly folded and set it on a chair. And there, that was time enough; enough of being settled in the upstairs, enough of being settled, period, enough. Whether Marijuana agreed or not, Heroin was thoroughly done dancing.
“Yes, I think Stoney missed you. He didn’t even go for my fingers once while you were away.” The colour was gone from Heroin’s eyes as he spoke as he looked directly at Marijuana and all there was, was the white. End of dance, ending of holding together. Heroin settled himself on the couch in silence and set about preparing the needle, each motion a familiar ritual in its own right, but faster because even unspoken, the connection whispered what Marijuana really said. And, Heroin’s own point made, he answered to his husband’s need.
“I want to see about that hand, as well, Geliebte. I know you wrapped it, but I still want to clean and re-bandage it now that you’re home,” his voice was understanding now and soft as his expression as he looked up at his husband through a veil of gold-brown hair that fell into the familiar role of shielding Heroin’s insecurity. Absently, he tucked a few strands behind his ear before reaching out to touch Marijuana’s cheek, stroked his jaw line and carefully kissed the corner of his mouth. “I missed you too.”
The sounds of Cocaine coming into the room drew Heroin’s attention for a moment and his expression, this time, at seeing his bruder was softer, too. Point made and done - he knew - and that was all that had been needed. So instead, he merely nodded to the table where a syringe of morphine sat in the kit. “If you need it,” was all Heroin said on the matter and turned his attention back to the supplies in the kit for tending to Marijuana’s hand.