"That's fucked up," he declares with a point. Killing themselves for a dream? Then again, Kavinsky has the distinct advantage of being able to make his real. To an extent. "And now you have. You're welcome."

He slides off the log he's sitting on so he can rest his back against it. Sitting up is way too much effort right now, and he's far enough away from the fire that he can stretch his legs out and rest his feet against the stone circle around it. Nice and warm, but not hot enough to start melting his shoes.