[He doesn't want to be asked, and that's evident in the way he recoils slightly from him, toward the window as the bus rolls to a stop. He thinks the question over, because this isn't really the time to be difficult for the sake of being difficult, and shifts, drawing himself to his feet with use of the seat in front of him. He shakes his head after a moment.]
no subject
...no, just. Let me hold your sleeve.