Xue Yang plans to mend his shirt himself, simply because he can see the tears. But he'll never tell Xingchen what he can't do.

He frowns, seeing blood on the other's hand, but doesn't comment past the tight throat as memories threaten to choke him. Breathes through it, accepting the pain as his due, ignoring it as Xingchen works on cleaning the gashes. Just as he had when he'd first found him almost dead, beginning the change of how Xue Yang thought of him.

His expression now is the same as back then. Awed, infatuated. He even doesn't flinch with how close Xingchen's hand comes to his mangled left hand, unlike the last time.

"I don't care if I do," he answers carelessly. Unaware that Xiao Xingchen blames himself for them. Instead, he tilts his head, wondering about the feeling there's something Xingchen wants to ask. "What is it? You can ask me anything."

He doesn't shake his head, knowing the room would spin. "Sitting is fine, I want to keep you company...if...you don't mind...?" Reminding himself to make the effort to ask, if only this man, is a definite effort. But worth it.