Ooof, weed had moved on a bit, in the last couple decades, or however long it had actually been. Much felt it pulling at him, like a slow rip tide, as her breath wound into his body. He exhaled, leaning back on his hands to look up at the outlines of trees against the sky. "Right," he agreed. "Right, I need to chill out." How much of his life would be easier right now, if he hadn't had such an itchy trigger finger, such a short fuse?
Lots of it, probably.
Even the trees were super still tonight, barely a breeze to disturb them at all. Maybe he should be more like the trees.