She didn't know what had happened. One moment they'd been moving in perfect synchrony, sharing smiles, sharing kisses, and now—
Well, now he was kissing her again, kissing with the same searing need as he had before, but this time there was a frayed, desperate edge to it. Desperate, like the near-manic look in his eyes when he'd lifted his head from her shoulder, like he was panicking and kissing was the only way he could think to make it better, and Qebhet could feel the wrongness as a shivering stutter in her chest.
Gently as she could, she turned her head to break the kiss and took his face between her palms. "Much," she said. "You're carrying a burden, I can see it. You don't have to tell me, but... I'd like to help. Will you let me help?"