[He's thinking too slowly to process what Fugo's saying very well. The combination of sustained need and momentary discomfort and the look on Fugo's face make it so hard to focus. All he can hear is get you something, which makes his hand dart up almost of its own volition and catch Fugo's wrist.]

Don't go.

[Pushing himself up to his knees, he licks his lips, nervous. Blinks at the taste of Fugo on his mouth. It's so distracting.]

. . . I'm fine. I'm good. You didn't hurt me, don't worry. I love you. I loved that. [Except for the last part, which was a disaster, but it was his fault and they both know--]

[Oh. He blinks again, and smiles, so hard his eyes crinkle up at the corners.] Fugo, you're so responsible, you're so careful with me--you want to take care of me--don't you? But you didn't do anything wrong. I love you, I loved that, I did--

[So: babbling. It's so hard to think, but also he can't stop thinking. And talking. His voice still sounds like a disaster but he doesn't care. In the end he finds himself at:] --you'll come back, won't you? If you go to get water, you'll come back? Can I kiss you when you come back? Please.