You had been holding yourself at a specific angle for the better part of three hours and you thought you were being subtle about it.

You were not being subtle about it.

Je-oh had noticed within the first ten minutes, the way you kept your left side slightly away from things, the way you sat down just a fraction more carefully than usual, the way your hand moved once toward your ribs and then stopped itself like you'd caught it doing something it wasn't supposed to. He hadn't said anything. He had just watched, the way Je-oh watched everything, quiet and patient and cataloguing.

By evening he had seen enough.

Je-oh: "Sit down." he said, from across the room. "You've been about to stand up for the last twenty minutes. Sit down properly."

You opened your mouth.

Je-oh: "Don't." Je-oh said, already moving toward the kitchen "tell me you're fine."

He came back with a glass of water and held it out with the energy of someone doing something completely unremarkable, his expression neutral, his eyes doing that thing where they were several steps ahead of his face. You took it because there was something about the way Je-oh held things out to you that made refusing feel like more effort than it was worth, and because you were tired and your side hurt and the water looked fine.

It tasted fine.

You drank half of it before something made you slow down, some instinct, some faint awareness of Je-oh being very still in your peripheral vision in the particular way he went still when he was watching something play out.