He's grateful for the reactor, studying her features in the darkness. It always puts him at ease when she finally allows herself to relax, knowing so often that they're both running on fumes. The wine is making his mind a little hazy, but it isn't enough to stop it from turning over; from obsessing. He tries not to let it bother him, tracing each familiar inch of her face with his gaze. Almost a full thirty seconds pass before he blurts something out in a characteristic fashion -- taking himself aback, but letting it hang in the air as before, not daring to take it back. "Can I hold you?"