[ Well.

Fuck.

It's kind of difficult to keep the well fuck off his face, so he contents himself with just keeping his eyes dropped, tracing over what she's put his hand on as she lists things he'd really rather be more happy not even thinking about. He's followed the patterns of scarring on her skin before, traced over the lines that make up her particular snowflake and categorized and placed things that he knew could create those precise markings, how hot something would have needed to be to scar just so, how sharp or blunt depending on the edges. But that's different. He can accurately consider things all he wants - being directly fed the information from memory is a cementing he doesn't consider particularly necessary. (He understands why she's done it, he just doesn't have to like the information to understand it.) So, yeah. Somewhat studiously and pointedly looking down for the moment. He's quieter when he does finally reply again. ]

I get it. I'll hold back on most of the self-flagellation. Can't promise everything. It's not the first time anyway.