Whether or not it's the presence of a bed in the room that triggers the drowsiness, Mark finds himself blinking less frequently now, each repetition seeming to make his lids feel heavier, coaxing them to a full close. He waves a hand dismissively at the offer of a shirt, his brows furrowing slightly at the thought, gaze only barely managing to follow the progress of the plate that he hands over to Eduardo (its eventual resting place gets noted in the back of his mind, where it will inevitably resurface come morning. With a soft sniff, Mark pads around the room, turning once in a circle, almost in the manner of a dog looking for a softer patch of ground on which to sleep. Dully aware that he was only minutes from passing out, Mark did his best to peer over at Eduardo, his blinks slow and languid.

"You staying?" he asks, confusion the only emotion that continues to register on his face at all.