I promise. [ graves pauses mid-way, meets his eyes steadily. credence is afraid even if he doesn't want to say it, and he's as honest as he can when he answers, his fingers busy preparing for what will come next. so when credence talks about queenie and jacob, graves engages. his young lover's been visiting them more often, and graves doesn't mind it all that much -- they're a great influence on him, and it doesn't hurt that credence brings back some of the delicious pastries whenever he does. ]

Mmm? What new ideas?

[ credence is settling, at least -- he's calmer than he was before, even if it isn't by much, graves is also going to consider that an improvement. but it helps graves, too; lets him focus on the cadence of his voice, on the bigger picture beyond the injury. he pulls out the knife slowly and grits; the pain is incredible, but nothing beyond what he can handle, and he drops it off to the side with a clatter, slapping the pad soaked with antiseptic onto the wound. he guides credence's hand over it to stem the bleeding before he steadies himself with the sterilised needle and thread.

all right, he's not going to bleed out. ]

Is it about the new line of pastries he's thinking of making? Something about unicorns? [ or at least some kind of fancy, imaginary animal. ] Or something with rainbows. [ a beat. ] Rainbows are overrated.