Eventually, they part, but not too far. Curtis keeps his eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips, absently tracing his fingers over Dejah's shoulder as if to remind himself she's still there.

Little by little, the lightheadedness of the Voice of Barsoom shifts to the vague, drifting feeling one feels just before sleep, with barely a gap between the two. Getting your head reconfigured to sense something you've never sensed before is hard fucking work; he woke up maybe three hours ago, tops, and he's already exhausted again.

It's okay, though.

It's safe here.

His breathing evens out to the rhythm of deep sleep, and still the smile lingers.