Sal did his best to remain perfectly still as Sam moved his arm. He technically did too good of a job of it, as sleeping people rarely remain perfectly still when being moved about, but luckily Sam seemed a little too out of it to notice, for whatever reason. When Sam slipped back into bed, Sal had the fleeting urge to slide his arm back over his friend's -- friend's -- chest, or, worse, to snog him, but the memory of the many pains he and Sam had caused pansies in the past and the few unpleasant times Sam and he had genuinely had a go at one another took care of that with astounding speed. Instead, he rolled over, doing his best to look convincingly like he was waking up. He did a fair enough job, if only because his head still hurt like a motherfucker and his mouth felt like someone had scraped all the skin off the inside.
"Nnghn," he said by way of greeting, rolling onto his back and draping his arm over his eyes to keep the sun out, trying not to pay attention to the fact that they were both starkers.