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It is rather distracting, Odile has noticed, to have someone leaning against your shoulder while you’re trying to read. Especially if said someone is no one other than Siffrin.
Granted, she probably could have moved him - and likely should have, preferably before he’d fallen asleep - but now it was too late. She couldn’t move him now. He was like a cat in that regard; much like one shouldn’t disturb a sleeping cat, they shouldn’t disturb a sleeping Siffrin, either. So she was stuck like this.
Not that it’s particularly bad or anything. Siffrin is a warm presence against her side, their soft breaths puffing against her neck as he slept. Even now, nearly a year after they defeated the King, he was still occasionally plagued by bouts of tiredness. The effects of craft exhaustion still lingered.