Hah... I remember that day in the alley. If I recall, you didn't much care for the little show I put on. Frankly, I think I could have taken it a step further. Grabbing his hand and sticking it in my knife wound wasn't enough to put the fear of heaven and hell in him. I should've had him pull a little something back out for his trouble, heh.

( does... that count as a laugh? kind of. he's not quite there, and the noise is more of a birdlike honk than a proper heh, but whatever dumb noise he's making has to be a step up from wallowing in his misery, guilt and self-doubt, right? sure, right.

at least he isn't taking his hand away. not when she drifts toward it in the same sort of way he's drifted to her touch in turn. look, he... mostly remembers. or thinks he does, maybe. names and faces would fade in and out, and the details of who they were and what they were like, too. there were days when he couldn't picture morga whatsoever, let alone recall her voice. then he'd see an illusion or have a nightmare and it'd all come flooding back in broken pieces. but he remembers... he remembers discovering hands-on that he wasn't the only one between them who missed touch. it was an enlightening moment, really. maybe that's what prompts him onward to putting his other hand on her side. he's one second away from just throwing his arms around her and hanging on, but he's sort of afraid he might not come back from that moment if he does it. )

You've only seen me on the ground. It's a lot worse when I'm upright. Which is why I mostly avoid it these days. Being upright, that is.