"Hey." It's a gentle, soft whisper. Said between Wylan's kisses and accompanied by his hands covering the other's, pulling them away from his face so he can lace their fingers together.

"What are you saying sorry for?" He smiles, a shadow of the usual ease he shows around Wylan, but it's an expression he hasn't managed for close to a month. He sighs, leaning his forehead against the other boy's, eyes closed as he just breathes in the comfort of being close. It doesn't erase the experiences of the last month, but it certainly helps ease the ache that comes with the memories. "You'll...likely see the marks they left. I'll...tell you, maybe not today. But I don't want you wondering what's left those..."

It may not be the best idea, to tell Wylan about those horrors. But it might be worse leaving him to imagine them. An artist's mind can be a dangerous thing when left to wander and think up what might be behind a cut or a welt or a burn. Judging by the sour expression he wears, Wylan's already picturing some torture or another.

"Always safest when I'm home." That's what this has become. This little hole they've carved out for themselves.