*sits quietly at the island in the kitchen and idly rubs at the edges of his bandages, watching you knock back three more aspirin and drain half a glass of water*
*was too out of it yesterday to do much more than sleep, but is a little more put-together today—and therefore, is much more aware of something... off* *it's not that you're gone all day (you're working), or that you're quiet when you get home (you're tired), or even that you've lost pounds you didn't have to spare (you're stressed)*
*no, it's just that the drugs can make him ramble like an idiot, and bandaged hands make for awkward/funny finagling, but he hasn't once heard you laugh* *it's just that they've showered together twice, and he's shared your couch and your bed and your space for forty-eight hours now, but you haven't once touched him beyond the bare minimum*
*sighs silently and uses his wrist to push his damp bangs back* *softly* I could try rubbing your neck a little, if your head still hurts. My knuckles should be all right for it.