"Actually," he told her, pleased with her vulnerability and feeling quite special that she felt so comfortable near him, "I was just enjoying being alone with you. We don't have to talk, if you don't want. You don't have to say anything. I don't have to ask any questions."

Doing his best to adjust himself, he sat up in his bed. His injured shoulder ached, but the painkillers he was on made it easier to use, and he was even experimenting putting some weigh on it a little bit. His other arm was kind of useless still, but he was able to shift in bed. As he did, he realized that her narrow waist and body would fit pretty easily into the hospital bed next to him. It was a silly thought- she no doubt dealt with plenty of other patients and made them feel just as comfortable as she did him, and there had to be rules about snuggling with patients- but he couldn't help but scoot his body closer towards her in the chair, making the amount of space next to him in the bed as obvious as possible.

"I like not being alone," he told her, as if he was talking just to fill the silence, "at least, when you're here. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, it would actually be nice to have another person's hand to hold for a little while."

The idea was a spontaneous one- he hadn't planned on asking her anything of the sort until she offered to leave- and he tried to conceal his nervousness in asking the question. Being a patient here made him feel almost like he was anonymous in a new environment. He had already been forced to deal with swallowing his pride due to his injuries and the level of help he needed, and it was almost as if that made him bolder.