"Whoa! Holy shit, brother, you've gotta come check this out! This is, like...this Swedish smack is the best shit I've ever had, hands down!" Mark's brown eyes loomed like two full moons, almost maroon...
Damn, Layne thought to himself, I gotta write this shit down! I'm like a goddamn poet! I gotta get with Jerry! We can write a major hit in like, an hour! Yeah!
"Layne? Layne, didn't you hear me? C'mere, you've gotta try this!"
"Y-yeah, I heard you, Mark. Damn, dude, you ain't gotta shout! I mean, damn!" Layne snorted and wiped a gob of drool from the side of his mouth with the cravat he'd tied around his arm for a tourniquet.
"Hey, gimme some. I used up the last of the stuff I got in Germany. I wanna see how the Swedish stuff compares to its Germanic rival. C'mon, Mark, shoot me up, man!"
"Ok. Hold still, goddammit!" Mark held the syringe in one hand, and held Layne's arm in the other, searching for a viable vein. There weren't any.
Mark sighed and looked elsewhere, finally finding one on Layne's foot at the base of his big toe. "Alright, Layne, here goes."
Layne hissed softly when the needle sank into his vein. His pupils constricted, nearly disappearing within the blue irises.
"Wooow. Ho-ly shiiiiit...." His voice slurred as he started to nod off, falling forward against Mark's chest face first.
High as he was, Mark snorted and pushed Layne away from him and, unfortunately, off of the bed. Layne landed with a snort and a low, soft murmur of "fuck!"
Luckily, the floor of the hotel room was carpeted. "Aw, fuck! I'm sorry Layne, I didn't mean to push you so hard. I love you, brother. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know that, right? Tell me you know that."
"Ugh, fine: I know that..." Layne gingerly sat up and leaned back against the bedstead. "Not... intentional...ly..." Layne fell asleep.
"See? What did I tell ya...it's really, really good shit."
Mark brushed his fingers through Layne's hair and closed his eyes.