Dorian heaves a sigh, letting it carry with it what lingering desire he'd had that Bull might tell him otherwise. Bull is warm, the texture of his skin familiar. He hooks a thigh over top of Bull's much bigger one, just to press that much closer.

Maker, what has he wrought? And how will they survive it long enough for him to return to a time where this world never existed?

But Bull is mentioning food--always looking after him, isn't he?--and Dorian realizes that he is, in fact, hungry. "Very," he says. A few bites of fruit don't make up for days of intentional starvation. He'll still have to take it slowly. And then, startled, "Wait--someone came in here while I was sleeping?"