It’s a testament to just how much he drank, because it’s not until the sound of sizzling is persistent that Benedict is jostled out of his sleep. It takes him a moment of looking blearily at the futon to remember where he is, and as he turns over to sit up, he does with a bit of a groan.

His gaze falls upon Silver, who is cooking, shirtless, hair still falling in damp curls. Benedict’s mouth suddenly feels a bit dry.

“Good morning,” he manages to say, standing up. He pauses to chug the water left behind from the night before and take some aspirin, then he makes his way the few feet to the kitchen area. As he passes a hand through his messy hair, he gives Silver a vaguely hopeful look.

“You haven’t got any juice, have you?”