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"... Vizsla."
"Djarin," Paz rumbles, annoyed, as if how dare Din bring up the fact that he's currently crushing Din with his entire bodyweight.
"Paz."
"What."
The children of the covert like to sleep in piles; it's one of Din's fonder childhood memories. When his skin buzzed, restless, Paz would find him and lie down on top of him until he could properly breathe again.
They're no longer children, of course. They have their duties, and their heated disagreements over how best to fulfill those duties.
Din sighs. "... Nevermind."
Paz just snorts. Din closes his eyes, and breathes in the quiet.