Aoba was, in the gentlest of ways, a little bewildered by the shuffle of movement. He’d been comfortable, disinclined to move, and wasn’t sure where he was winding up until he was there: on his back, with most of the bunk suddenly and arguably to himself, with only his hand being touched.

Not even Desire wanted to make something much of it. All Aoba heard was grumbling that things were too cold. There wasn’t enough contact between them in comparison to before, now.

Declan looked ready to sleep. Was it even properly nighttime? Did the Reef even have something resembling a day-night cycle? But Aoba felt a tiredness, too. The day, such as it had been by his perspective, had been long and full and complicated. Some proper rest was very much due.

So with a little shuffling of his own, touching up how comfortable he was nestled into the pile of pillows, Aoba heaved a relaxed sigh and considered Declan from under heavy eyelids. A moment after that, and he lazily patted at his own chest with his unoccupied fingers.

“Don’t be so far away,” he murmured, attempting to coax Declan nearer, tiredness keeping him at a minimum of words.