[The strained smile, the long pause, they're all enough to tell him that he's really not fooling him, not in the least, but he can't exactly stop pretending, either, not when admitting to the long days and nights spent here, when the building was cold and the freezing wind rattling the windows was the only sound to be heard would mean wiping that small smile away and replacing it with guilt.
Guilt is the last thing he wants Art to be feeling, ever. Not when this wasn't even his fault - he didn't decide this.]
... I know you wouldn'ta slept like this, if it was up to you. [And that means you know he wouldn't have left you here alone, either. His grin shifts into something softer, smaller, his lips quirked up only slightly as he reaches for Art's hand, almost involuntarily, like he can't help it, can't help wanting to touch him, to make sure he's there. That he's not going away.]
Sleep well, did you? Have some real nice dreams? Hope you did. [The words are nothing but an exhale, carrying just loudly enough in the still air between them.]