[ His eyes close wearily as he licks his lips again, as if trying to get the courage to say the words aloud in the first place. To ask this of Claude. Even in his feverish delirium, he knows it's a terrible ask, but the effects of the fever - or the ritual? - have had the worst sort of thoughts and memories spiraling in his mind while he'd lain there shivering. ]
no subject
You can't let me turn.