Ishma had grumbled all the way there, stumbling through the dimly-lit hall to his bedroom, still not fully at home within the walls of the little house. Muttering about getting ripped off hours before, about some rude chip that had been sitting next to him down at the bar, trying unsuccessfully to get enough Monite from his lips to light his path. He'd made it, that was all that mattered really - and he'd fallen into bed with a comfortable sigh, lying carelessly on his stomach, the dark-haired wick not even bothering to pull the blankets over his form.
It was perhaps due to his overwhelming tiredness (too much excitement for one day did that to you, he knew) that it took a few moments for the Mugrobi to be pulled from his slumber, the faint sound of a familiar voice reaching his ears. Slowly he stirred, pushing himself up with his elbows and taking a moment to register his surroundings.
Still in his room, weird as it still was to think of having a room of his own, so that was a plus. Still dark outside. Still dry-mouthed and slightly hazy, but moments later the man seemed to recall the sounds from the other room, and dragged himself from the warm bed. Clearing his throat, Ishma walked barefoot through the darkness, this time managing to light the room as he muttered a few words of Monite - the sight of his hama, pulling some boch into the house, well that was enough to pull him back to reality.
"Oh," said the wick, eyebrows raised, his face betraying his confusion, "oh dear."
The green-eyed spoke moved forward, closer to the two, "what 'n th' world happened t' ye, boch?" already he was looking her over, eyes narrowed in concern, even as his glamour told of his inward distress - what the man was upset about wasn't exactly clear, but he was uncomfortable with the situation for sure. Ishma glanced to his lover, reaching out and brushing an open palm against the man's arm as if in greeting, "get her some water, will ye? an'... an' pick some of th' green, serrated leaves from th' pot on th' windowsill, and crush 'em up."
Junia leaves, right. It'd been a bit since he'd had to heal someone, but those would do well in taking away the pain.
"An' you, come sit at th' table, boch - need t' get ye off yer feet," even as he spoke the tall young man reached out to the girl, offering assistance to the table should she require it.