Can I Have Your Hand?

We're sitting on the couch, watching the Nicholas Cage movie where he's a tire salesman, and Morpheus has the white blanket up covering his mouth, just holding it there. I keep pulling the blanket from his face. "I don't think you ever get angry," he says.

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, I don't think you're ever angry."

"Can I have your hand?" I ask. I take it in mine, and start stroking the palm. "Do you like touch, I mean, touch that isn't sexual?" As I told him over the phone earlier on in the evening, he wasn't "the cuddling type." So, I honestly never know when touch is wanted or even appropriate.

"Yes, yes, I do..." He pauses. "I just don't get it very often." Sometime after I start holding his hand, he fells asleep again. It's about 11:30pm.

I look over at his face, and see his eyes closed. I decide just to leave.