He knows he looks a mess, in the moment. His hair is in disarray, streaks of blood stark against the silver-white. Part of him wants to pull away at the touch. Not because it's her, no, of course not. It just doesn't feel right for her to have to touch him like this.

A ridiculous thought, frankly. They've seen -- and touched -- each other plenty over the last few weeks. She's seen all the ugliness he has to hide. And yet, she wants him close, even so.

He lets out a breath before sinking back as bidden, his gaze elsewhere and nowhere. "Apologies," he murmurs, the water comfortably lapping up against them both, the warmth of her frame sinking into him as surely as the water.