[ A part of Felix wants argue—because what has he ever done but argue, until his throat hurt and he couldn't anymore?—and there's a lip-biting, fist-curling moment where he almost pushes the point, half-opening his mouth to say something more...

...but he only exhales, and drops his face into his hand, thumbing at his temple for a moment's reprieve. ]

You're injured, [ he says roughly, which is as good as an acknowledgement of what she's saying as he can manage. She's in no state to have this conversation, and maybe he isn't, either. ] There's no point in trying to reason it out right now. Maybe there isn't any reason to it.

[ He drops his hand to his side, and sighs. ]

Come on. You should eat something, at least, while you wait this dream out. You'll likely wake soon enough—the only question is where.