He glanced up when the door opened, trying to force a smile before dropping his legs off the side of the bed and wrapping his arms around his middle instead - trying to cover up the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt, in part, but also because his stomach was still twisted in a tight knot. Even though it had only been a few seconds, the part of the dream that he'd felt was still crawling slowly up his spine and he suppressed a shiver because of it.
Giving a weak one-shouldered shrug, Paul shook his head and sighed. "Didn't sleep Monday night either, didn't want to close my eyes and miss what might be the last moment I had with him." He could barely make it through the sentence without his voice staggering, pausing in the middle of it to stabilize his breath, his voice, around the words. Tommy kept saying that he was coming back, but Paul didn't know when. And part of him, an all-consuming part at times - wouldn't be surprised if someone just moved on and left him behind. He would have done it long before now.
"I don't sleep when he's not here," Paul finally said, still staring blankly at the floor. "I didn't sleep before him either. Not for..." he trailed the tip of his tongue against dry, chapped lips, "...what feels like years. Just don't," he shrugged. He didn't eat much either, which was becoming apparent - though it had only been two days and that wasn't nearly enough time for his cheeks to start to hallow and his skin to start to go a little gray, ribs hidden under baggy t-shirts. He finally looked up at Glibt again and pushed himself off the bed to put on a t-shirt, his jeans sliding down just enough to show a single word tattooed on his hip, dipping town under the waist of his jeans, that had been there for a year: "Hope".