[That's a really, really long almost-minute. From where she's sitting, at least. And when he says no there's a flutter, a little bubble of hope that he bursts almost immediately.]

Oh.

[She's not going to leave it at that, no way, but something about the way he says it tells her she's already lost this fight. Which means that she's always going to be one missed dose from having him treat her like she's going to turn on him at any second, that she's probably never going to be able to touch him suddenly and just for the pleasure of touching him without risking an odd, if not openly hostile reaction. She uncurls her hand from around his wrist, tucks her hair behind her ear as she looks away and her fingers threaded through his go loose. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet.]

Have you ever tried it? It's not - they don't try and make you talk about stuff you don't want to. And it's -

[a hitch in her voice, there - just a tiny one, and he better be okay with her not looking at him because if she looks at him she really is going to cry]

it might be the difference between getting by and getting better.