Having this- that borrowed warmth radiating off locus, the pipeline to lazy, sleepy contentment in his mind silencing his usual anxieties, the band in his hair? All roll together in an overwhelming need for rest he usually can't find on his own. Safe.

He's safe here. He doesn't need to worry so much, it'll be okay. He slips forward that last little bit, forehead pressing against Locus' throat, lost in the sensation of security and comfort provided. His end of the bond fills with sleepy affection and gratitude.