He jerked his head away from the knife, lip curling in disgust. In some situations he might actually enjoy the touch of the blade, but not at the moment. The man refused to talk, about himself or otherwise, and he kept trying to make himself out to be a monster. It bothered the hell out of Steve and he wasn't in the mood to trust someone who refused to share anything. He stood in a circle of his own blood that still slowly welled from the new cuts, though older ones had stopped and scabbed over. The pain was intense and almost all-encompassing, but he was used to that. Steve had endured worse and he'd no doubt find new hells the longer he was in the hotel.

"I told you. Someone has to be the canvas or we both suffer. I thought it would be better if it was me since I'm not gonna scar. You won't have to see me some day in the future and read all the things you carved into me. It seemed like that would be a better idea than cutting up an innocent stranger who'd always see the reminders. If you can't keep cutting, stop. It's probably been long enough and we just didn't hear the lock release."