Ezra blinked at her response. It was so far from what he'd expected that it took him a second to even parse it, which meant —

Which meant this was really Rosalie. He grabbed for her hand with sudden desperation, as though he expected it to be withdrawn if he didn't take it immediately. He wrapped one hand around hers firmly and then took a staggering step forward to put his other hand against her upper arm, more or less curling himself around her. It was everything that he'd expected: her skin was warm, soft, alive; she was solid, grounding. He only barely stopped himself from tucking his head down against her neck — inappropriate, unacceptable, the sort of thing that would get them both into trouble if anyone were to see, but it was hard to remember any of that when it seemed like she was the only thing tethering him to reality.

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to reorient himself. Rosalie was really here, and he was holding onto her.

"Not the hospital," he mumbled. He opened his eyes again but only looked at her neck. He did not especially want to look towards the trees and see how close the shadows were now. "I need to go home."

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