He waited patiently for George to come back, washing some of the blood off the sink and floor with the wet t-shirt, which might as well go in the trash now for all the good it was anymore. It was just a white undershirt; it didn't really amount to anything.
Taking the sweatpants, he forced a small smile at George and then carefully tugged them on, leaning against the sink to get them up over his hips. He reached out for George then, leaning on him instead and resting his forehead on the other saint's shoulder. "I can't sleep," he answered. "Unless I've drank enough to not dream, I don't sleep." The opium helped with that too, though. And while he was utterly exhausted, he knew that sleep wouldn't come.
Sebastian inhaled deeply and brought a hand up to rub his eyes with his fingertips. "George... I'm so sorry. I- Nothing else helped."