[ He starts so stir even before she reaches for that water glass, even watchful in his not-so-deep sleep for anything that might signal a change in her. What he hopes, of course, when she starts to stir, is that her fever has broken, but as full consciousness filters back to him, he's aware of the veritable furnace she's become, and the stark contrast that cools over him when she pulls away.
He's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when she knocks the glass to the floor, but with the sound of it shattering he absolutely bolts upright, and reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder. ]
Alisaie? [ Everything about him is concern: his tone, his pinched brow, his hand lifting to press against her damp forehead. Gods. ]
no subject
He's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when she knocks the glass to the floor, but with the sound of it shattering he absolutely bolts upright, and reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder. ]
Alisaie? [ Everything about him is concern: his tone, his pinched brow, his hand lifting to press against her damp forehead. Gods. ]
You're burning up.
[ That's an understatement. ]