[He's aware, vaguely, that he ought to move at some point - that he's heavy, and he's probably squishing her. But it's nice to just lie here, pressed up against her so completely. It's nice to have her this close, without one of them in pain, or falling apart, or recovering from something awful. It's nice not to need an excuse to hold her, for once.]

[When she nuzzles in against him, something in his chest goes hot and tight - feels like it does a slow flip that catches somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. He can't stop the smile that spreads over his lips, slow and crooked and warm - can't try and tamp it down, when he feels a little like he's floating.]

[He really ought to move. He knows that. But another minute won't hurt, surely; so instead, he lets his hand wander up to pet her hair, and he nuzzles back against her, and he presses a kiss to her cheek.]