He’d more or less peer into that book for a period. Not exactly paying attention to anything, mind you, but just looking on until his eyes grew heavy enough to shut for (presumably) the final time.
A few more minutes, and he might – if it’s alright of course…! – start to lean on the elder’s shoulder.
There would be nothing special being written down. Just messy scribbles, his own name written in several types of handwriting. Just random scribbles. After a moment he glanced at the other, watching as he leaned. It was fine by him, he was careful not to make too much movement so he wouldn’t wake him.
