"If they did, I'm sure you'd be the first to notice," Albert mumbled, rolling his eyes mostly to himself. He had a feeling that Caesar needed this just as much as he did. What kind of image did he project, looking like a shadow of himself?

Caesar had never seen a side of him that did not frown constantly, sound serious, or have an insult deriding his intelligence ready. It was easy to blame the things that kept them apart -- the differences in age, paradigms, and general interests -- but at the end of the day, it was likely a great amount of stubbornness. Another thing Silverbergs were unfortunately notorious for.

He really knew nothing about Caesar, though he could assume several things. His favorite color (green), pastime (sleeping), least favorite pastime (studying), and least favorite person (himself). It seemed like enough when he had a job and other pursuits to keep him occupied.

Now, though, there was nothing. And it would have been tragic if he bothered to think of it that way.

"Bed," he said shortly. Just mentioning the piece of furniture reminded him of how tired he was. He could probably sleep for days; he certainly felt like it.