Henry’s muscles tense as Leonard starts in on his back; he tries to relax, but as the young man starts to carve the E, he can feel parts of it already trying to heal, albeit far slower than normal.

If he could breathe, he’d be inhaling deep hard breaths. If he could cry, his eyes would be watering, but he can’t, so all his body can do is try to clench against the pain.

He makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat as his nails dig into the floor, breaking away some of it; his self-preservation instinct kicks, and his body rolls up with enough force to possibly buck Leonard across the room.