The touch to his cheek comes roaring back to the forefront again rather than background noise. He considers it for a moment. And decides not to ask, just roll it up into all of this touchy feely stuff and...try to move past it. Attempt to not assign any further meaning to it.

"Okay." He rolls from the bed to his feet to grab the remote. The junky CRT tv at least sits on the little dresser drawer across from the foot of the bed. Reminds him of a hotel. Or of old SHIELD bolt holes and safe houses. Small, contained, not very trackable, everything needed in as unobtrusive a space as possible. "Used to do this with Natasha, sometimes, when we had to wait in a safe house and let something blow over. Sit around and watch telenovelas. Something to concentrate on if you need that distraction, or something to just be background noise instead."