Caine won't stop running his hands all over me, like I'm some sort of broken porcelain he's tracing.
He's also listening, because he's answering everything I say, but it kind of feels like he's not really listening, either. Like everything's going in one ear and partially processed before he goes back to his whole-body inspection.
I grunt as Fenris bumps a little harder into my legs, as if frustrated I'm not giving him attention.
It isn't like I don't want to—Caine just won't let me. Every time I reach down, he grabs my arm and puts it around his waist again.
With my face practically plastered against his chest, it makes it almost impossible to see what's going on. I'd barely registered our return before Caine came running to me, and now I'm so relieved I'm half-limp, only able to stand thanks to his support.
