A bed, an honest to Andraste bed, with a mattress that wasn't full of straw or bugs, holes, or soggy in places he'd rather not consider lulled Zevran into a deeper strain of sleep. The fact he felt a tall, warm, and very masculine body settled next to his only made it easier for him to nuzzle his way forward along a shoulder and pretend the last year and a half had been a bad dream. That he was still in Antiva, on a mission or simply enjoying the perks of a job well done courtesy of the Crows.

Of course such sweet dreams would never last- and they cannot when one has a boot put to them and is summarily shoved out of bed. Zevran landed awkwardly, rolling out of habit with a grunt on impact with the floor.

This was not the Roads. This was not Antiva. This wasn't even camp, so where was he?

He settled on the ground, staring up at the tall. Very tall. Ridiculously tall man in front of him.

"...If I had a choice in the matter, I certainly would not have picked this bed for my own. Especially if you make a habit out of kicking anyone that chooses to share your bed out of it come morning."