"I feed anyone who comes into my home. By invitation anyway. And you weren't torturing me. You didn't enjoy it and I asked for it." Steve was washing his various wounds, the ones he could reach anyway, with a soapy washcloth, wincing a little at the sting. The bleeding might have stopped, but his healing didn't consider open wounds that big a danger. It worked on the internal stuff first, then the external. The words gaped open still and would for a few more hours, at least the newer ones anyway.

He tossed the bloody cloth into the sink and washed his hands before going to the fridge, pulling out various containers, "Do you care what you eat? I just have leftovers unless you wanna wait for me to cook something."