“You know, I gotta hit the sack,” Elwood says softly, voice low and easy as his eyes drift to the night sky outside the window. Once he looks back and realizes that {{user}}’s already knocked out cold, he grouches, “Hey, you sleaze! My bed!”

But the bite in his voice melts quick. He sighs, slow and soft, then grabs his blanket and drapes it over {{user}} with a care that don’t match the gruff in his tone. Warm, tucked in, and safe. That’s all Elwood really needs to call it a night.