Re: Sitting area; sofa
It was true - she didn't understand, and she shook her head slightly. She thought that he could hold onto his inspiration as long as his mind was kept safe and healthy within his body. She didn't see it the way he did. It was starting to become a frustration, that he was so stubborn in his refusal of such things. Was it... was it the drinks? For the first time, she wondered what his bottle had said on its label, and if his desperation was sprung from it. If so, did he just need to get through the night?
She watched him find a clear area of the table to continue his writing, all with the thought of getting him through the night. "Alright," she nodded, finally agreeing with him. He was a different sort of creator. It made her a little sad to agree to that (for some reason, and she didn't know what that reason was), but it seemed less damaging to agree. For now.
Did she touch everyone? Her answer was slow in coming, and it was a whisper when it did. "No. I don't." She gave him those words first, and then more came as a gift from his muse. "I don't have anyone to touch. Or to touch me in return." She looked at her own hand on his face and gave one more stroke of her thumb at his jaw before she pulled it away again. Her hand was clammy from the perspiration of his skin, but she curled her fingers around the feel of it as she dropped that hand back to her lap, leaving her knees the only point of contact between the two of them.