She bites her lip, holding in the temptation to ask, “Where did the bad shadow touch you?” Instead she relaxes her weight onto him even more, breathing deeply. “Shhh,” she soothes, “You’re safe. There’s nobody here but us, I promise. Whatever it was, it’s gone.” She wants to cheat, but that’s only going to make him annoyed instead of terrified. “Come back upstairs with me and try not to think about it?”“Because I can just magically forget it happened,” he snarks dryly, but he does at least lift his head off of the worktop. One hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he mumbles, “Need to find some advil.” He drags his hand through his hair, as if he didn’t look disheveled enough at that point. After a moment, he points out, “For someone who wants me upright, you’re remarkably on top of me.”
She slides off his back, reluctantly, because he’s warm, panic notwithstanding. “I just want you to feel safe. I can take the headache away, if you’d rather.” And if she’s /doing/ something to help, then the leftover nausea will go away — she hopes. “There, look, I am no longer on top of you.”