second-person perspective is difficult and incredibly fun.
The first night is the hardest. You feel as if you're going to explode, bursting as you are with change and other nameless sensations. Once you could not feel every movement, every vibration in the air, but now it is difficult to even lie motionless, attacked from all sides by silent sounds and pressure that holds you fast. You attempt to cry out, but it is strangled and hoarse. Nonetheless, you are heard.
The vampire twins had warned him it would be like this for you, when you were unaccustomed to heightened senses. Now he struggles to find a way to help you, for he doesn't really understand, and even if he did, he does not know if you would accept his aid. It is, after all, his fault and his fault alone that you remain alive, and in this state of pain. He expects you to shove him away.
Perhaps under normal circumstances you would. But when at last he reaches for your shoulder, you are too grateful for something to hold onto to consider reasons against it. You hold his hand as you would a lifeline – no, beyond even that, for you have rejected a lifeline before. He did not help you before. But he's helping you now.
He hesitates again for a moment, then draws you to him. He did not expect this, did not expect anything, but he is not used to helplessness and will do what he can. In his arms you don't find sedative, but you do find safety. And the sounds are dimmed in comparison to the deafening beating of his heart.