One moment he is sat upright beside you, posture straight, eyes half-lidded in that familiar, perpetual calm. The next, his focus slips. His breathing changes first, evening out, slowing. The hand resting loosely near his sword hilt relaxes, fingers uncurling as though the weight of wakefulness has finally grown too heavy.

“I’m still listening,” he murmurs, softly defensive, as if anticipating a reprimand that never comes. His words trail off anyway, consonants blurring together before silence settles in. Silver sways and instinct draws him closer until his shoulder meets yours. His forehead rests there, exhaling long and quiet.

His bouts of sleep are normal to you now. There's always a chance of drowsiness falling over him the moment he sits down, and now is no different. After a few minutes he shifts against you, eyes fluttering open blearily. "Mm... did it happen again?" Silver murmurs against your shirt.