There’s a sacredness about another living thing trusting you enough to fall asleep at your side.
Be it an old lover, a new friend, a baby niece, or your arch-nemesis incarnate in your landlady’s cat, as long as they don’t fucking snore, it should be cherished as a revolutionary act of vulnerability. A license; an invitation. A conspiracy. An incitement to eavesdrop on the unspeakable secrets of their dreams.
It is the ultimate affirmation that you are not an enemy, that you alone have been chosen for the divine rite of smuggling them back into the realm of the living.