"My lungs are fine, stop trying to redirect," he tugs at Chris, trying to coax him back down by taking hold of his sleeve. He'll not force him, that feels wrong and especially cruel right now but, pathetically, he just wants that weight of Chris on him or against him, the solid assurance that he's not lost. "You're always yourself. That's what I like best and fell in love with, you're always you."

He's not making sense really, but the words feel right on his tongue even if they scratch coming out. He shouldn't have cried, shouldn't have yelled when he'd reached for Chris there in the water. All it did was exacerbate his still healing throat and gut. It's not much, the feeling nearly gone just for time, but he hadn't bothered to heal it in the moment - or hadn't the expertise for it - and once he'd returned to conscious thought it wasn't a priority. The still-open wounds, yes, but a rough throat and sore midriff muscles? They would heal on their own, eventually.

He leans up again, rolling so his forehead is against Chris' arm when he doesn't choose to simply pull the cleric back down atop him. It's not ideal, but it's contact and that's what he wants if nothing else. Just contact. Just the kind hand of someone who hasn't hurt him. It's unfair to ask, especially with Chris dealing with Just One More Thing regarding Caleb and his departure. One more support of Chris' foundation cruelly kicked away.

"I'm glad-" he starts but his voice breaks and he coughs and shakes his head, forehead rubbing against Chris' arm. "I'm glad we're still here. Selfish as that is. I-I don't want to lose you."

He pants a little, the effort of so much emotion driving him to speak making the soreness more acute, but he ignores it. He doesnt want nor have time for it so it may well not be there. "Please, just. Just lay with me awhile, if you can. I want to help but I need it too and simply being near you right now is more than enough, if you don't want to talk."

They can just be miserable together.