[ When he comes down from the fever that had gripped him, when the jolts of lingering sensation stop making him tremble, questions pile up in the hazy calm he finds in its wake. Wriothesley is a comforting weight against him, warm and... kind of damp, and when he moves, Pinocchio's eyes track him in initially wordless curiosity.
Are you all right? he opens his mouth to say. Wriothesley beats him there. He nods, smoothly rising to his feet (albeit with a soft, purring chatter — chk-chk-chk — coming from somewhere), possibly pulling the man up along with him, unless he offers resistance. Still taking stock of what had occurred between them, benign curiosity sharpens to distant concern when he speaks. ]
no subject
Are you all right? he opens his mouth to say. Wriothesley beats him there. He nods, smoothly rising to his feet (albeit with a soft, purring chatter — chk-chk-chk — coming from somewhere), possibly pulling the man up along with him, unless he offers resistance. Still taking stock of what had occurred between them, benign curiosity sharpens to distant concern when he speaks. ]
You're not hurt, are you?