The kid, as he's often called, sleeps like a brick, hardly moving. There are no dreams, no heat, no familiar men and places to haunt Neil, and it is perhaps this that has Dogmeat gingerly climbing up onto the bed. He quietly curls next to his master's legs, brown and blue eyes keeping watch over the slumbering form. This continues for some time, until Neil shifts to place a hand against the creature's back, a gesture of affection. Of a familiar comfort.

Something in Dogmeat responds to that, and he lowers his head to mattress. For once, exhaustion reaches the dog's mind, urging him to sleep. Prompting him to nap beside Neil as they used to do, during the long winter months in that dark city, black soot and pollutants clouding the air.

The brief memory and the touch at his back proves to be enough, and he closes his eyes. Dogmeat allows himself to have that rest, that moment of respite he couldn't take while waiting for Neil on that shore, by that rickety old pier.