Their faces are so close, she might not see the curve of his lips; but his soft exhalation and touching his forehead to hers get the point across. Beneath her, his hand slides between her ribs and the mattress, to curve around her back and press her gently against him, a full hug sent from his fingers.

It could be nice to joke. As well as he knew how to intimidate or persuade, he knew how to make people feel comfortable and safe. And he wanted her to feel that way, of course… but he also, for once, trusted that she didn't need him to put on a show, find humor that wasn't entirely true, play at being a normal lover (normal person), to get there.

"I'm glad you're not. Though I'd understand." He'd been an utter mess in her arms mere… hours? how much time has passed? …ago. As far as he could tell, he'd lost the ability to really cry—hadn't done so since Jenoport—or he'd probably have already done so more than once today. Relief, release, no matter how positive, could bring everything else along with it. Dams break… Which was why it could be necessary not to feel anything…

"Anything you want to talk about?"

(Worded that way since he understands how the options range from nothing I can actually identify to absolutely everything)