Doc isn't without his own middle-of-the-night quirks either but thankfully, so far, he's managed to keep them at bay, enough for Raylan to just have this safe harbour from the horrors that await outside the door. He tries his best to keep everything compartmentalised, be that available avenue for anyone and everyone to approach, but he can't help the occasional anomaly that bubbles up and spills over.

Not that this is some anomaly. Far from it. If he wants this to last forever, it can't be anything but a normal from a fantasy realm he can't hope to maintain.

"Tch." Carefully curated his ass. "Not sure I trust your definition of 'a good guy'." Raylan's just lucky that he's easy to tolerate. It's usually Malcolm who wakes him earlier than he would have normally risen, so Raylan doesn't have to worry about that.

His hand stays, finding soft tufts of fine hair to brush over - it feels different than the last time he grabbed, yanked, bit into that skin, bruised that hip, arched his back, muffled moans swallowed by the pillow muscle memory remembers, but not really more prickly than before - trying to gently coax the worries out of that head. The hat's gone for now, there's nowhere left to stuff those thoughts. Might as well let them out.

"Good night, Raylan." He'll tuck the Marshal in properly a little later, once he's all but drifted off to sleep.