[ he's not in the mood to speak anyhow, not with his thoughts as messy as they are. larus tries to focus on the task at hand, ignoring the tenderness in his chest as his jacket is pulled from him. then his shirt. it's clearly visible that he's still healing, some of his skin an interesting shade of pink beneath his usual pallor, but nothing's open or bleeding anymore. a good sign, though he tenses at the question.

his eyes fall to the jacket, clearly torn. ]

Maybe you should, [ he says slowly. throw it away. then, he'll have a few things to remind him of home and nothing else.

still, it's difficult, slowly stripping down the rest of the way as he helps dorian, and even if the weight of his beating no longer rests heavily on him, he can't really let it go. the danger of the down is something very real; given his own history with trying to survive such a place, larus isn't certain what would have happened if he hadn't had dorian to lean on. forced seclusion had never worked well for him, and it isn't going to work out in duplicity either.

larus takes his hand and leads him towards the bedroom. ] I owe you for what you did. Not that I approve of the means, but you might not have heard from me in weeks if you hadn't.

[ or never again if he'd actually died. ]