{She chokes on a giggle that spirals into tight slightly hysterical laughter for just a moment before she gets a hold of herself again.}

Can I check it out? And your head? Did you hit it hard when you went down?

{Her fingers pause with barely a paper's width of space between her fingers and the cuff of his sleeve. She's trying to remember his preferences for contact and not make this worse for him, but she knows people lie and slough off their injuries when they really shouldn't.

She feels like she's got practice tracking them down to scold them.}

There's no hole in your sleeve--but you seem to be in a lot of pain, the way you're favoring it-