His pad of paper and charcoals and pencils fall down to the floor as he startles, his fingers clenching reflexively against Alecto's before they loosen again. There is naked longing in his expression, but it is subdued, repressed, as he whispers, "What do you mean by that?"

He can't seem to help running his thumb along Alecto's palm, and then he glances down, suddenly distracted, turning his hand over, facing up. "What...what happened to your cut? It was still here yesterday..."