[ He almost chokes. He pitches forward as it runs into his mouth, and coughs even harder to try and prevent it from going down his throat. He won't let this--this thing win.

(he can't let it win)

He takes short breaths--long exhales and short inhales. His coughs serve to help him breathe, too, but each time he inhales it gets closer and it burns more, and it's making him heat up in ways he can't understand. He weakly starts flicking his tongue, too, to do something, anything, to get it out. ]

Haaah...!

[ He pulls hard enough on his wrists that he's able to swipe at the number's hair. He can't quite touch it, but he's fighting, and he's doing something (and maybe it's working), and that is more than enough to keep him struggling.

(his lapis glows and sparks, too, trying to help)

(tries to burn off these tendrils and this number but its power is so weakened in this state, that all it can provide Mizael with is comfort)

In his pulling he intakes sharply, and the liquid goes down his throat. He coughs again, but it won't come out.

His human body reflexively swallows. ]