Neil looks up at Rosie, flushed and embarrassed and distraught about the whole thing, feeling silly and a bit stupid, but not really knowing how he looks because he still hasn't looked at himself in all this.

If he had, he'd known all about the willowy limbs and fine-boned features, the slight androgyny of his face and that chin-length, wavy hair, just a shade darker than normal. He does notice the daintiness of his hands, his wrists, as he takes Rosie's hand and gets up.

Rosie's just a touch taller than him, maybe an inch or two. Neil's gotten so used to being able to tuck her under his chin that being eye-level with her is almost as disconcerting as everything else.

"Sorry," he says, startled each time he makes a noise, and it's not his voice, but it's something like it. "I didn't mean to wake you up."