[ graves knows he's afraid -- and all the more he has to keep up that expression of neutrality, the impression that he's done this before even if he's in pain. the knife has to be dealt with, and so is credence's apprehension. it's not his fault -- no, far from it. graves remembers how he felt when he'd rescued him from that warehouse, the rage and the fear, the fact that someone saw fit to hurt credence because they could.
all things considered, his young lover is dealing with it better than he ever thought he did. he can pick up on the anxiety, the trembling, and he puts his bloodstained hand lightly over his for a brief moment. ]
I'll be fine. [ he tells him, reaching for the kit and opening up one of the needle and thread packs. he uncaps the bottle of antiseptic and a thick pad of dressings, dumping a generous amount over it before he starts to slowly extract the knife. ]
no subject
all things considered, his young lover is dealing with it better than he ever thought he did. he can pick up on the anxiety, the trembling, and he puts his bloodstained hand lightly over his for a brief moment. ]
I'll be fine. [ he tells him, reaching for the kit and opening up one of the needle and thread packs. he uncaps the bottle of antiseptic and a thick pad of dressings, dumping a generous amount over it before he starts to slowly extract the knife. ]
Tell me about your day, sweetheart.