[For a little while, anyway, it's exactly what the doppelganger wants, and he soaks it up, pressing his angular body against Cesar's more solid one. He peers up expectantly when Cesar turns toward him, expecting at least a kiss, but then he's being rejected, pushed away in a way that makes him instinctively start to cling. His hands slip away at the shoulder shove, which must be the opposite of affection. It stings. He narrows his eyes, and then abruptly, his features even out into placid, deliberate indifference,]

Mm. I can see you want your space. That's fine. I'm the one who understands that, remember?

[He turns, climbing onto the bed with his counterpart. For the first time, the original stirs, half-raises his arm, but it's like the doppelganger said: it really seems like he can't wake up, not yet and not fully. The copy gently takes his wrist, catching it mid-motion as his own fingers search for a pulse point. Each touch and gesture is slow and delicate, and somehow it probably raises more alarm bells than anything blatantly aggressive could.]

It's not like you have to be here for me to help you out with your problems, even if you seem to have some trouble admitting what those are.