"What are you doing here?"
"I--"
"Never mind."
Her hands were on his chest, not caressing precisely, just pressing, moving against his t-shirt, as though making sure he was really there, really alive. They were slim, pale, spotted with freckles, like the rest of her.
"I'm sorry." It seemed very important, all of a sudden, that she know that.
Satisfied of his reality, the hands stopped moving and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. "I know." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and he could feel her warm breath. He shivered. "Are you okay?" she asked, still against his shirt.
He was silent for a long moment, then her arms slid around him. He sank into her embrace, still shivering. "No," he said finally.
"You will be."