Blink. Breathe. Look around. What is there? There is the warmth on his shoulder. That was real. His green eyes looked around. The wetness of Ezra's tongue in his hand. That was real. That's two things. He needed a third - his water. Warmth, Ezra, Water. What else. Wood - the stained worn wood of the bar. That's four things, he needed a fifth. What was the warmth? He looked at it, a hand. Who's hand? Slowly his gaze followed up the arm, past the shoulder, last the neck to a face. The face of the kind elf. Níeven.
[I]Níeven was real. His eyes blurred, and he blinked again. Still, he did not say anything. As his mind slowly figured out where he was, what had happened, and what was happening to him, his breathing steadied. He stared at the taller elf's face. "You're bleeding." He frowned out, his voice was strained and quiet. He lowered his hand. It was odd that this has happened while he was awake, and was very disorientated for the small elf. However, it was nothing he couldn't deal with. He had Ezra with him. Ezra helped. The more pressing matter to him was why Nírven was bleeding. Had he been the cause of the injury? He had been known to lash out in an episode before... Had he done so to the other? He really hoped he hadn't. But silently resigned himself to this being the truth.

[CI]Níeven stared into his eyes, searching for any signs of recognition. He watched the green eyes searching about, terrified, trying to distinguish real from fake. He felt warmth trickling down his lip, and he immediately went to wipe his mouth with his free hand. A small, sheepish grin graced his features. Sometimes when he was too focused, his body would forget to alert him of these things. It was only when Clem alerted him of the painfully obvious, did the elf even notice that he was indeed, bleeding.
[CI]"Don't worry, whenever I get focused in on something, I forget that I chew on my lip. I -- I'm okay. It is likely to stop in a moment. Please, I am far more concerned for you... You're crying," He said gently, voice almost breaking. He sounded fragile as if he were a glass figurine upon a mantlepiece, and Clem's crying had truly damaged him. Not in a hurt way, but in a way you felt seeing others go through anguish when you wanted more than anything at that moment to just alleviate their pain. His eyes went downcast, his handkerchief lowered away from Clem's face. "Are you okay? I -- don't rightly know what happened."