[ Kind of, Flynn doesn't say, and presses the tray carefully onto their small beside table with his heart in his throat. He hates that look on Yuri's face, hates the faltering smile and the quiet, the odd pallor to his skin and those strange fangs. Flynn has no idea what to do, what's going on: he's out of his depth and sick with worry and has been for days now. He's running on barely any sleep and too-little food, heartsick exhaustion making his limbs heavy and his head slow.

All he can do is sink down on Yuri's other side and wrap an arm around him. ]

It's okay if you are.

[ The words come out unbidden, quiet in the still air. ]

I would be. If I'd been... trapped there. It was horrible. I can't imagine. Or—I imagined it too much. I'm... so glad you're alright.