He doesn't move away, but he doesn't move closer either. There are things he could do or say, but it would all depend on feeling and thinking something other than the sudden dull thud of his stone heart against his ribs. He doesn't want this. He doesn't disdain it. He doesn't feel anything but the creeping feeling of his own rapidly approaching mistake.

He stays still, quiet and unmoving, until she's no longer touching him. "You're tired," he says, making her excuses for her. He stands. "Sleep."