[He jerks awake at her touch and scrambles to stand up. Halfway there, he realizes it's Rose at his side, and stops while still seated in the now tangled pile of blankets, breathing hard and eyes wide from the vivid nightmare out of which she broke him.]
Rose ...
[This is new, and awkward, and he doesn't quite know what to do. He's never let her see this particular scar from the war, the dreams that sometimes make it seem as though he hasn't slept for years, they disrupt his rest so badly. He mutters something under his breath in his own language, and reaches up to scrub his face. She's going to want to know what's wrong, he thinks, but he'd just as soon not go into a description of the front lines of the war.]