[ after the first two he can confirm - the urge to kill isn't present anymore (and hasn't been for some time - he's had lots of practice in separating himself from that part of the mentality, even if he's still struggling with the rest) and he'd been aware of that much but it's still different, still nervewracking, to wonder if this time his body would betray him - if this time he'd open his eyes again and see his dead eyes, taste his blood, feel it slick in his throat, the meat between his teeth and on his tongue and in his esophagus, slipping into the pit of his stomach - but

it's

fine.

the urge doesn't resurface; there is only nausea and disgust in the wake of his mind crossing into that fear unbidden, but his fear could be laid to rest, thank God, thank - thank - thank someone.

all that's on his face is the flush of his cheeks, the flustered half lids of his eyes and an expression that's - perhaps pacified is the best word for it, mollified by the end result being less than tragic, and he catches hurricane looking so his gaze drops lower, as though abashed - could he sense what he was thinking?

but nevertheless, he doesn't move away, hands shifting to move around the other's waist and back like a hug ]