[He tenses a little when he's pulled against her side, but he lets it happen because he's still riding this high of being able to feel, of having a body, that his old qualms about contact are diminished at best.

Still, being touched scatters his thoughts and he goes quiet for a moment to draw them all back together and attempt to come up with a diplomatic way to express them.]

I had been caught up in regret, is all. It is an ennui that frequently befalls the corporeally dispossessed, particularly when they are still surrounded by living persons of their old life. It's funny how something so simple as human contact can be so easily taken for granted, until you're facing an eternity without the possibility of it.

The last thing that I clearly remember thinking was what would I do if I had a second chance.

And then I woke up like this.