[The wiping of tears was fine. She leans into his hand as usual. It feels nice. Normal. As it should be. The lick, though. That gets a vaguely amused look of 'what the fuck?' before she allows herself to be pulled, going so far as to climb into his lap.

She curls herself into him as best as the couch will allow, head resting on his shoulder and her face pressed into his neck. She's not doing much holding in return, more in a mood to seek comfort and be comforted. Her arms are tucked between his chest and hers, fingers idly toying with his shirt. She's not really in the mood to talk about being dead, anymore. In fact, she's not really in the mood to say much at all. Well, save for a few things.]

Can you stay here with me until I head back to my apartment tomorrow? I woke up at the hospital and I thought it was the Shop for a second and it was really unsettling and now I can't stop thinking that I'm being followed.

[She's sure she isn't but that's a fuckton of bad memories to dredge up seconds after coming back to life. She finally notices his shirt and sits up, examining it and him, frowning.]

You're going to explain this, right?