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Lucas steps into the cottage with careful feet, each boot deliberately placed and soft. He looks nearly as if he is prowling, although his eyes are still curiously blank and impassive as they take in the surroundings. He is not even looking at Leif when he speaks, though he circles him.

"On your knees."

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He'll shake out a couple pills, almost dropping them, fingers stiff and unwieldy from lack of use. "Mmm. Eck." He makes a rather childish face, then lies down on his stomach, careful not to put his face too close to any of the bloodstains.

He dresses the wound on Leif's back first, as careful as he was before, making sure it is clean and the bandage he places on it is secure.

"I apologize for my home."

"No need to. Mine was not much better." He twitches a lot, back muscles tensing every time he's touched.

Lucas considers how he might seem, given their interactions. Leif has an excuse for the state of his home - he was only recently hurt. It has been a long time for Lucas and he still lives this way, he requires it. It likely does not seem very encouraging. He pulls Leif's shirt down when he is done and slides up to begin to bandage his hands again, eyes on his work.

"Do not feel obligated to be kind to me in times to come because I do these things. If I cease to provide what you need, or my presence is not a help, you must tell me."

"I will keep that in mind." He flinches less at the touches to his hands, apparently more relaxed when the attention isn't on his back. Then, offering a small smile-- "I doubt it will become an issue, though."

"Why is this?" He goes through the same careful routine, making sure that he doesn't inadvertently cause excess pain.

"You are helping. I have no reason to believe you will suddenly become unhelpful."

Lucas' lips briefly turn up before he continues to wrap Leif's fingers.

"Perhaps I am skilled only at causing pain. You will not always need this."

"That is what people always say, that this will pass, that I will heal and move on. But what if I don't?"

"... Then you will become like me."

It is a double pain that throbs; a recognition that he will not be saved and an instinctive understanding of how damning those words are, that he is the last thing anyone would want to become.

Leif's quiet for a moment, looking up at Lucas.

"...there are worse things."

Lucas chuckles under his breath in gentle, dry disbelief.

"It's true!" He scrunches his nose in mild defiance.

"You do not need to pretend to like me," he says to Leif, adapting his words from earlier.

"I know." He settles down, resting his cheek on his folded arms.

He is silent for a moment as he sits back and reaches for the bruise paste. His long fingers then slide under Leif's chin and tilt it up and toward him, eyes seeking out the beginnings of marks where he had hit him to the ground. Thankfully, since this comes from his world, he knows that it will remove all traces. He meets Leif's eyes briefly, then looks at his cheek as he touches the paste to his skin.

"It is not a life you should wish for. I do what I am able with it. But it is not what it could be."

That makes him flinch away a little, his cheekbone crimson from being struck. His skin bruises very easily, and is still sensitive to the touch.

"It could be worse, too."

"Shh." He sounds in the single syllable, as he holds Leif's chin still, similar to his mother, business-like. He continues to spread the paste over the red.

It could be worse, yes. There are moments now, unlike before, when he laughs and it is real. He is able to forget and sometimes, in moments, to hope. Still. He thinks.

"... It is hollow at the center."

He hisses softly in pain, then falls silent, obediently. His eyes are fixed on Lucas's face, with an open, innocent sort of curiosity. After a moment, he remarks -- "But now empty all the way through, anymore."

Lucas is evidently still ashamed of betraying any happiness. He blankly struggles through the impulse to deflect before finally murmuring, "no."

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