Sorin jerked violently, though he managed to wrench himself further against Constantine rather than away, as he'd done so many times with others lately. Perhaps it was the familiarity that washed over him like waves, voice hands smell body. Perhaps it was just an accident. Nerveless fingers dropped the quill, spattering ink across the blank space at the bottom of the parchment. His eyes opened, empty black regressing into pupil-shaped darkness. He looked up at Constantine, his brows drawing together. He'd Seen...what had he seen?
"I'm," he began, but then went quiet again as he read the words he'd written. "What?"
The words ran together in his head and made a horrible kind of sense. Hadn't Anthony said that he and Taff...? No, no, they wouldn't. They couldn't. Suspicion made him go stiff all over again.
"I am fine," he finally said. "It was not so bad, this time."