Almost before he quite realizes what he's doing, he sets his things down and reaches out for Alecto's hand, peripherally conscious of the black smudges of charcoal and pencil, his fingers absolutely reverent and gentle as he cups Alecto's hand in his two, peering at the cut. "You..." he strokes his thumbs very carefully over the unbroken skin, not getting anywhere close to the cut, but feeling the tension in the muscles that he'd registered only subconsciously, reflected in his art.

It didn't look that painful, but - "Are you sure? You're...so tense..."

He can't meet Alecto's eyes with his face turned away like that, but he peers at him anyway, searching, noting the way his lip trembles, the sharp intake of breath.