Somewhere between the fifth and tenth minute that passes, Iris realizes he could fall asleep like this. Draped across Wilhelm's shoulders, head tipped just so that his cheek fits perfectly along the slope that follows Wilhelm's neck to his shoulder. There is a lulling movement in the way Wilhelm treads slowly, a kind of comfort Iris thinks he might have been afforded once, when he was very, very young.

"Hey, Wille?" In the settled silence of the saves, it feels almost sacrilegious to break it. He keeps his tones hushed, not that he needs to speak up much at all, with their heads so close together. "Do you ever think about going back...?"

Tucked away from the rest of the world, Iris finds himself feeling sentimental. Or perhaps wistful is the better word, since sentiment would require he had something to miss in the first place. The holidays had always been rough for Iris, no matter how loudly he would proclaim otherwise to an audience of only his creation and toys. The older he grew, the harder it became to pretend. And the relief he had felt in finding friendship never quite seems to live up to the devastation that wrecked him when he inevitably had to say his good-byes.

He could count in one hand the number of people he knows well enough to miss, and somehow that is both a comforting and a depressing thought. Without realizing, he's curled himself a little tighter around the other, as if afraid to be made to let go.