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Ever, at least, still hadn't moved: just settled to smoke his cigarette, crooked on the bed and his own booted feet planted. He'd watch Zeke fuss in a fuzzy, distracted sort of way. Detached, in this moment, he did absolutely nothing to help or even to make the other man's job easier.

At least he tapped off his ash into the cup, and didn't make too much of a mess.

In reply to the question, he made a faint sound of agreement and finally offered the cigarette to Zeke. He could steal a puff while Ever unlaced his shoes and tossed them into the corner, swapped his pants for Zekes softer ones [trussed in tight around his waist, they were definitely too big] and put his shirt back on.

Once the cigarette was gone, he really would want the sleep.