tom splitting his soul to the point he no longer requires something as human as slumber but still taking sleeping draughts just so he can sleep by your side

and the nights he doesn’t, he’ll just lay there or sit in his armchair, staring at you for hours and hours on end like a statue made to face a piece of art from across a museum — except this is very much his own doing, though he won’t admit it, when the dark lord could be participating in something far more productive