He couldn’t move. It wasn’t sleep fighting, he’d done that and that left him with nothing but memories of blackness. This was worse, as if he was numb all over but his body was still moving. His mouth opening without a sound, his hands clenching in the sheets as he tried to form words. Nothing came out. Not a thing from his mouth or his mind, except the stark and naked terror in his eyes.
It’s not often that Jim isn’t sure of what to do, but he couldn’t let it show now, not in front of Sebastian. So he settled for bringing one of his arms around the other man’s side—a gentle sign of affection the sniper only lets him get away with under certain circumstances, and a move Moriarty himself hardly ever makes even when he’s in the mood. Jim leaned forward, resting his face in against Sebastian’s neck and said nothing.