“Stay still.” Empyrean ordered, hand pushing down on the other’s chest. His hand reacted instantaneously to the physical touch, threatening to burn light, but he tempered it down enough (not wanting to hurt the other) till all it did was illuminate the bones and shifting star stuff underneath his skin. He understood why Samson would fidget: the quarantine, the pollen, being under observation, his presence. Sure, he’d been called to do this, to help in case things went awry, because it technically made sense. Unease filled him, filled them both, really, at the prospect; he;d been steering clear of Samson the past few months since the other joined the Advocates, but a job was a job — and it wasn’t like he didn’t want to help, he just wasn’t too comfortable with the void that the other represented and possessed, not when he’d been surrounded by it for eons on eons. Devrim and Empyrean were very different that much was true, but they’ve been together long enough to bleed into each other, so even Devrim was hard pressed to actively seek Samson out when he didn’t need — or want — to. “And we can get over this quick.” Not that he was the authority on the subject, he was pretty sure only the medical staff could clear Samson, but Empyrean was there in case anything went wrong.