"Mm, I'll look forward to it," he drawled, enjoying the closeness as much as she was. "Of course. What do you mean, if? I moan like hell, but I know I'd just die if I stopped writing," he admitted, with a bit of a helpless smile.
The quietness was heavy between, both apparently lot in their own thoughts about war, their different stories. "No. No, never be sorry, it was me who asked, you were only being honest with me," he told her, sincerely.
He didn't know sign language, but that sign was fairly universal, and he understood the sentiment. He gave her a smile, and a little nod. "Ah, let's not get miserable now," he insisted.