He pushes himself away from me, landing painfully on his knees, and starts throwing up into the toilet.

I wet a washcloth, then kneel next to him, leaving the washcloth in reach. I rub his back, and hold his hair out of the way. He finishes at last, and I wipe his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth, gently.

I put the washcloth aside. I can clean it soon enough. Right now what matters is putting an arm around him, and murmuring endearments into his hair.