This wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. If he hadn’t spoken she would have thought he was dead. And if she didn’t do something soon, he might very well be. Reaching out, she pried his hands away from his head - it took more effort than she liked; either he was that strong even in this state or she was that weak - and held them tightly in her own.“Leo, stop. You’re okay. It’s just me here. I brought food.” She had thought of that, though it wasn’t much. Squished gas station burritos. The truth was she was unsettled completely by his behavior. She almost forgot what she had left for in the first place.
Blood matted his hair and streamed down his temples. Her hands prying his own were first perceived as black-smeared vices and he yelped and tried to pull away, but fatigue had him giving in not before long. The hallucination vanished when she squeezed his hands in hers. The warmth was contrast to the cool, slick feeling of the leviathan’s. He sat up and the whispers subsided, replaced by light and mirthful memories, by upbeat hip hop and flashes of dance moves.
“Mic…” eyes trailed to the food between them and tugged it out of her hand. There was an awkward fumbling to open the wrapper but once it was freed he shoved the whole thing in his mouth, moaning in almost pain rather than relief.
