Hair that is usually so precisely and styled is now sweat-drenched, curled where it doesn't stick to warm skin. He hasn't, on this day, bothered with makeup after the raccoon disaster when he'd first succumbed to fever dampness, but there are still deep and restless shadows under his eyes.

He lifts his chin to look towards Adelaide, and the green light of the Fade seems to glimmer brilliantly at the edges of his vision, causing him to groan, lightly, even as rousing consciousness registers the uncomfortably warm tangle he's in. He feels like a furnace, and so does Benevenuta.

He sort of pushes her away, but mostly pushes himself away, listing to the side to land on his elbow.

Maybe he can just sleep here on his own that'd be fine.