She took the tea from his hands, wrapping her own loosely around the hot mug as she settled into her seat. It was a welcome kind of burn after she had awakened to such lonely cold; it was no real substitute for warm flesh and solid bone, but it would do. Her thumb flicked against the string of the tea bag, her jaw working, though no sound came out. The dream's details eluded her, but she recalled enough to at least provide him a rough sketch. Unconsciously she sidled closer to him, their bare shoulders brushing; she found his solidness reassuring, a comfort she desperately craved. "I don't know," she said, her voice a soft whisper. She reached for the spoon, clutching it like a lifeline; when she stirred her tea, the spoon's clinking on the cup's walls sounding like wind chimes. She smiled weakly, though whether it was at the sound or Sean's concern, she could not have said.
"Sometimes I dream about drowning," she said. Her voice broke on the last, fear bleeding into her very posture. Her shoulders slumped, and she fought to meet his eyes. "I feel sand between my toes, but I can't push off. I can't surface." She raised the mug to her lips, taking a long, slow draught of still painfully hot tea. It tasted good, for all that, and went some way toward clearing her head. "I wake up in so much pain. I used to think I just hadn't stretched enough before my workouts." She shook her head, a dusky blush painting her cheeks. "I think that's what it was tonight. But..." She chanced a glance back to him, searching for any sign of judgment or disdain in his eyes.