Wolfgang pulls away as well, blinking rapidly, eyes dewey. Their hand slides from his hair to his neck, fingernails pressed lightly into his skin. “Oh —” Their hair is full of moon dust, more grey than gold now, and there's an ashy smudge on one cheek from Michael's face. “I'm sorry, did I hurt you?” Their face is all pink with exertion despite the lack of oxygen, and their mouth feels strangely wet.