You always liked to sleep as close to him as possible, it’s safe. You shared a bedroll on the road and even a bed in Saint Denis. You liked to nap while leaning on him, liked to sleep knowing he’s there.

But nowadays he has all these thoughts that haunt him, thoughts that make him want to press gentle kisses to your hair, to whisper lovesick sweetness.

It don’t feel platonic no more.

“Sleep in your own bedroll tonight, {{user}}.” He replies after you ask to share again, taking off his boots.