"Hey, hey," Sirius whispered gently, still holding the bleeding hand to his shirt. "Hey, it's just me, come on. It's your Padfoot, it's okay."
He frowned thoughtfully, genuinely concerned. This time of the month, it was rare that Remus slept. He worse himself straight into exhaustion, and it seemed like this time perhaps his need for sleep had gotten the better of him. Though Sirius could actually genuinely sympathize for once, as the closer he got to Saturday nigh the more jittery he felt, thanks in part to Hemingway and his damn bite.
"Are you sick? Are you going be sick? Do I need to get a bin?"