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"Only for a week." His tone was fairly nonchalant, his normal near-monotone raising slightly near the end of his sentence. Regardless, he did understand the gravity of being in the infirmary at all. Even as he was itching to get out of it. Surely there was more work to be done. Surely there was something he could be doing from where he lay.

The fact that he'd only been conscious for a brief time did occur to him, but that was inconsequential. He was conscious now and--

Right. Supposed to be resting.

Zebulon's reminder came back and made him chuckle to himself, though the sound was more akin to a quiet whuff of air through his nose. "I will try. I'm a bad patient."

It wasn't that Diryas was ignoring the gravity of the situation. More so that he didn't see the point in dwelling overmuch on it. He was alive. He would continue to be alive. He was sure he was under the influence of some kind of medicine or something as far as pain levels went, but as long as he didn't form a dependency and the levels scaled down appropriately with his healing progress, he didn't see much point in worrying about that, either.

And of course he'd rather be the one poking at people than the one being poked at, though less directly. It wasn't that he didn't trust the medical staff here, but he knew his own competence while trust was the name of the game for them. He was alive, though, and that's what mattered. That Zebulon wasn't going anywhere was of some comfort to him, even still, and he rubbed his thumb against the back of Zebulon's fingers where they curled around his.

"Thank you."

A light ghosting kiss, but a kiss all the same; Diryas appreciated it, knowing how awkward Zebulon was with displays of affection, especially in public where people might see him. Or close to public, anyway. Diryas saw through the clearing of the throat, but didn't comment on it. It wouldn't do any good to make his husband more awkward. He blinked slowly at him at the suggestion to get some rest.

"Alright. You also." Again, he knew Zebulon, and knew he would not have been resting much. "Sleep somewhere better." Eyes glancing pointedly to the chair, he knew it was likely a fruitless suggestion, but he was going to make it anyway. "A stiff back will do neither of us any good." He was getting tired again already, a product likely of accelerated healing as well as the nature of healing in general. Energy had to go elsewhere. Diryas was loathe to be unconscious again, even as he accepted it being inevitable if he wanted to recover.

It was as if the suggestion alone was enough to bring the drowsiness full force. He returned the squeeze even as his mouth opened in a sudden jaw-cracking yawn. He couldn't really argue with Zebulon's logic, knowing he was right. Knowing he could relax assured of Zebulon's well-being, Diryas settled down onto the bed and the pillows that made him miss their bed back home. Or even the beds at the Prytaneum. His breathing did hitch briefly as his ribs protested the change in position, but nothing very noticeable.

He pulled his hand out of Zebulon's long enough to run the backs of his fingers against Zebulon's stubbly beard. It was a brief gesture, followed by returning his hand to the bed and laying it atop Zebulon's. His blinking was drowsy but even still he watched Zebulon.

"Alright," he finally conceded, though it was another moment before he closed his eyes.