The sun was finally brightening the shitty room of the diner. Party had his face buried in your chest with his arm around your waist. Neither of you spoke about how you got there, but it had something to do with copious amounts of weed and lingering tension. It was heaven for him, though. The slight breeze, the summer air, it was almost enough to forget about being a killjoy. Enough to forget about the raids. Enough to forget about Korse trying to kill you all. There was a certain stillness in the diner. No one else was awake, and the dunes dared not move.