*gazes up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, his hand moving from your shoulder to card through your hair* *gives a fleeting liptwitch* I'd like that.
*falls silent and weighs his thoughts (but he's tired of thinking, tired of second-guessing, tired of everything that requires him to be strong when he's not)* *whispers, abrupt and melancholic* I don't want to go in tomorrow. I want to go home with you.