[ By now, Cullen probably shouldn't be surprised that Dorian manages to look like he's adhering to some high standard of fashion even when he ought to be asleep, but he is. Probably always will be. There's Dorian in some fancy silk thing that looks as if it ought to be worn in a palace, looking sleek and put together. And here's Cullen, hair a rumpled mess and wearing a plain cotton t-shirt and some cotton trouser-type things with a stretchy waistband that he still doesn't know the proper name of.

He accepts the offered seat with a small smile and takes the parcel. It's too late now to waste a draught on this night, but he will certainly use one tomorrow. ]

Coming from you, I suspect that means anyone with knowledge of the healing arts would find them suitably perfect. [ It's the gentlest of teasing wrapped around an expression of genuine admiration. ] I do thank you for this. Sleep is.. Well, it's still something I struggle with, even now.

[ He shrugs, considering. Because it isn't always nightmares and aches and pains. Sometimes he simply can't quiet his mind long enough to drift off. ]

Perhaps I got too accustomed to doing without during my time with the Inquisition.