If shit keeps up like this, Dave might have to take up smoking - he thinks maybe there would be something grounding about that, about the feeling of smoke filling his lungs, of the deep breaths he's taking to try and combat the tight feeling in his chest.

He yawns, huge and jaw-cracking, and finally leaves the earring alone, figuring he'll get used to it eventually. He glances sideways at Gamzee, not bothering to turn his head, but just sliding his eyes over, and there might be just the slightest hint of red peeking out from the sides of his shades.

Then, with a series of resounding cracks, he sits up and begins to stretch himself out, twisting and turning and arching into all kinds of impossible-looking positions, making soft little noises that are half pleasure and half pain.