[ Dreaming is a tenuous, nebulous thing for Sam, filled with things that don’t make sense and things that are all too real - things he never wanted to see again and things he wishes wouldn’t disappear when he wakes up - and this is no different. His own form is surprisingly steady, the only real difference being the huge, feathered wings that sprawl from his back, which is… not unusual, for a dream, but more telling of the symbiote connection and his subconscious mental representation of himself.
He doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t; he’s dreaming, so why the hell shouldn’t he have wings or Kavinsky snarking at him?
Sam can admit to himself that he kind of enjoys Kavinsky always trying to ruffle his feathers, and he smiles a little at the hand on his chest. He hasn’t exactly tried to keep it hidden that he thinks Kavinsky could use some genuine affection, physical or otherwise. ]
Going along for the ride, huh? Not like you not to try to grab the wheel, or at least pump on the gas a little.
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He doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t; he’s dreaming, so why the hell shouldn’t he have wings or Kavinsky snarking at him?
Sam can admit to himself that he kind of enjoys Kavinsky always trying to ruffle his feathers, and he smiles a little at the hand on his chest. He hasn’t exactly tried to keep it hidden that he thinks Kavinsky could use some genuine affection, physical or otherwise. ]
Going along for the ride, huh? Not like you not to try to grab the wheel, or at least pump on the gas a little.