@godpyre continued from this
Lightheaded. Light years away. Cliff stares into nothing, and in the absolute silence of his own head, he feels as though he's lied in a tub for the last humid day and a half, the bathwater long and eternally cold, his eyes plastered to the interminable crawl of a ceiling fan above.
He's dizzy. Maybe he's taken in water. He’s slept for fifteen hours before this, and Cliff stops walking, grazing the side of his neck.
"I never knew we had a garden," he thinks to himself, pitching high with wonderment. He looks back to him, then, softer, "Follow me, little amigo."
Andrei had tapped his shoulders from behind to egg him forward. Cliff continues with a sluggishness. He does not remember what happened while he was home. He had too much to drink, perhaps. Too much of something. A black hole exists in his brain, soapy-headed. Suddenly, he stops.
"You wouldn't happen to find something on my neck, would you, Andrei?" Cliff turns in front of a mirror and, gingerly, he rubs at a spot below his ear. He glazes over at himself. "...I'd like to get better. "