He's a good patient, staying mostly still but shifting to accommodate her. Honestly, it should feel nice, having her close and safe, but this is just another thing Piaget's tainted.

He'd hoped his explanation would help, but Aerith looks just as miserable, iterating again why she acted the way she did, her voice cracking and her eyes watery. As she places her hands to begin to heal him, he manages to get a hand on her face, thumb brushing a stray tear. It's terrible intimate, but -- isn't all of this? She already feared him a selfish fool; what else does he have to lose?

"I'm not upset with you," he says very gently, arching slightly as the magic starts to set in, uncomfortable but also taking some of the pain away. "Losing my freedom, being forced back to that life -- it's one of my biggest fears." If she wasn't concentrating so hard on his open wound, he'd pull her into his chest. As it is, his hand stays firm on her cheek, and he swallows before he manages to admit, "I wasn't eating, the first mate had to use a sleep spell on me -- I was so scared you were gone forever. That you were getting sent back to that life and going to be absolutely miserable. The idea that he would have soured your memory of all this, of me -- " It's his turn to get teary.