no subject

[ The journey to the bed takes him longer than he would like, made all the lengthier by the fact that she hasn't seemed to noticed his wrist yet — how can she not have seen it? The black mark upon his skin? It's...always the first thing he sees about himself, when it's uncovered. Perhaps it's a silly thing to be preoccupied with, when he can't even see, but still, he shambles along slowly, until he's close enough to sit on the bed, accepting the glass that she pushes into his hand. ]

Thanks. [ Just get used to it, Alisaie, you're gonna be hearing it a lot. He lifts the glass to his lips to sip from it slowly, the ice cold water a balm to his dry and swollen throat.

With his free hand, he fingers the sheets on the bed beneath them, lips pursing. ]

...You were...busy while I was in there, huh?