Tim's aware of Matt's injuries, the severity of them and where they're at, and he's careful not to jostle them as he shifts a little closer to Matt's side. One hand rests on Matt's chest, fingers tracing along the line of his collarbone idly. He doesn't quite lay back down. Instead, he stays partially propped up so he can watch Matt's face.

It's probably rude. Probably unfair, but Tim likes being able to watch without being watched back. He likes being able to memorize all the lines and curves of the other's face without Matt being able to do the same thing to him.

Especially now, feeling as exposed as he does. He takes comfort in the other's presence. He realizes, belatedly, that Matt hasn't asked him any questions. Hasn't pushed to find out what the nightmare was about. And Tim's grateful, because he definitely doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to forget it as quickly as possible.

"I have no idea what that is," he says, resting his temple against Matt's shoulder again. "But that sounds great."

Not necessarily the food itself, but Matt cooking. Them eating together and sliding back into normal habits. Enjoying each other's company and getting away from the emotional heaviness they've managed to fall into.