Lancelot debates that a moment somewhat tiredly, finally just nods.

"Get yourself a drink if you want," he murmurs, "you're welcome to the TV. Wake me before it gets dark."

He'd rather be up again in a few hours to eat then try and sleep through the night then sleep all day and wake up early. Pawing awkwardly at the covers he scrapes them back and curls up under them, not bothering to get undressed any more first. It'd hurt trying to scrape off layers, and he doesn't particularly care. Is too tired to care. Even as uncomfortable as he is, he's so exhausted that sleep isn't long coming.