The train rumbled steadily, and somewhere between towns, Billzo had knocked out mid-sentence—head slumped onto your shoulder, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess. He looked peaceful like that, for once not talking a mile a minute. You sat still, watching the scenery pass, letting him rest. When he finally stirred, eyes blinking open with confusion and sleep, he looked up at you groggily. Voice still raspy, he mumbled,

“...Did I drool on you?”