[ he is not fine, he is recovering from the experience. but pressing him is a pointless endeavor (usually), and inej lets him have his moment of shortness. but she catches that glance at her hands, and inej simply holds them out to him, palm up, while he does up his tunic, so he can see. she looks unharmed, unbothered, by the entire affair. still the same quiet, observant, calm inej. and her hands are no longer glowing. just the same shade of caramel they have always bene. ]

I feel fine.

[ it's an honest response; she doesn't feel tired, necessarily, or that it took a lot out of her. and she watches him for half a moment before stepping forward, to push her luck just a bit, reaching up to straighten the collar of the shirt with an idle touch. her fingertips brush against the fabric, and she is quiet for a moment.

part of her feels guilty, still. part of her is relieved, that he's finally fine. but most of her is struggling with what she wants to tell him, versus what she wants to hear. she wants him to trust her, and tell her what bothers him. to be unarmored, but she knows now that the tiny steps made along the way are kaz's way of attempting. and she cannot always wait for him, to be ready. sometimes, she has to push, and pry. but she needs to know where to stop.

this point, though, really has nothing to do with him. it mostly has to do with her. and how she has things she needs to work on, too, and how she hates that kaz feels as if he carries this alone. he's smart, though, and surely he knows already, but . . . all the same. ]

I hate it, too. Being touched, when I am not in control. Or when I do not want to be.

[ it's said quietly, her fingers still lingering on the collar of his shirt, but inej soon withdraws her hands. ]

But thank you, for allowing me to do that. Mati en sheva yelu.

[ this action shall have no echo. ]