There's a degree of terror he can't get around as she comes closer. She's not saying anything. If this were a dream, she'd- What? Does he really know what his mind would do with this situation, given free reign?

The pressure of her at the edge of the bed is too real. The sound of her breathing. The movement of cloth. The smell of her, the way her clothes are almost haphazard, wrinkled, so out-of-character it's a fresh shock to notice.

He lifts one hand again, faltering several times before he manages to touch her sleeve. A syllable. A sound. Then, "Oh. ...Hi."