[ His breath hitches as those fingers stray over the bruises -- they still ache, the sharpness far from forgotten, raw to the touch -- but the only answer comes in the form of a muted hum that seems more question than acknowledgement.
Water should probably be a thing. Medi gel. Touch. Somewhere to lie down and let these shivers work their way out. But he's still swimming, eyes partially open but not really focusing on anything for the moment.
He knows he's warm, that York is there and he's done well. The gentle kisses, the soft words, they'd normally hold no benefit to him, something to shrug off or be puzzled by. Instead, he simply soaks it in, surprised by just how good the simplest of gestures can feel. ]
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Water should probably be a thing. Medi gel. Touch. Somewhere to lie down and let these shivers work their way out. But he's still swimming, eyes partially open but not really focusing on anything for the moment.
He knows he's warm, that York is there and he's done well. The gentle kisses, the soft words, they'd normally hold no benefit to him, something to shrug off or be puzzled by. Instead, he simply soaks it in, surprised by just how good the simplest of gestures can feel. ]