He's ignoring her chatter, head tipped just so, eyes hooded slightly. It’s a reassuring sign, that ragged twitch when he presses against bared skin. And yes peripherally there’s a withering siren song luring some part of him, but it’s only an absent curiosity; sometimes dignity is worth more than indulgence.

A little bit. Just a smidge.

“Well. Good news is it’s not going to kill you. Yet.” He’s not half as worried about the bloodied split across her face, given that she’s expressive enough not to have sustained nerve damage. “Can you walk? I’ll do it here in a pinch, but this isn’t the best of places to dress a wound.”

And again. Not really wanting to get caught with a bloody mess where someone might start pointing fingers. Very bad.