The smoke detector gets ripped off the wall, and the horrific din finally cuts out. His ears are still ringing. His head is still pounding. His eyes and mouth feel like sandpaper.

L is talking, so Cesar swings his gaze over to stare blearily towards him. Some of the lines on his face deepen minutely, but they soon soften, resting on his words and the smoking toast. Cesar's not much of a morning person on the best of days, but he puts a hand on L's shoulder, pats, and ends with an encouraging hold.

Then he reaches for the coffee maker, feeling slightly nauseous. Spiking his own drink with something extra had been a terrible idea, especially when he hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd last had anything that strong. He'll pull himself together during his first cup of coffee, hopefully. Until then, he's flinching at small noises, and squinting as though the overhead light were the noonday sun.