As much as he'd have loved to enjoy the momentary skin contact, it was hard to do so when his skin was quite literally burning. Or it least it felt like that. Merlin, had it always been this bad? Somehow the added noises made the pain all the worse, because even turning his head didn't allow him any distraction. Greengrass being the one to do it didn't make it feel any better, but it did make him less comfortable voicing his distress. The droplets made contact with his wound, and it was all he could do to stop himself from wrenching his arm away. He felt himself trembling under the steadying support of Greengrass' hand, but he couldn't bring himself to watch Greengrass play nurse. His head was tilted down and his eyes squeezed shut.

"I can't—fuck," he snapped, pulling his arm away from Greengrass and instinctively reaching up with his opposite hand to press against the wound. No the brightest idea. He whimpered again, only he knew it was a stupid mistake so he waved Greengrass off, still unable to make eye contact. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated, hoping Greengrass would not think he was to blame for his suffering (well, not this suffering. He was to blame for the splinching, but he couldn't bring himself to blame him. Not after what he'd admitted.)

"I just—I really do hate dittany," he explained, the burning sensation dying off just long enough for Valerian to find the the willpower to hold his arm out. In doing so he looked back up at Greengrass, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had and not in a good way. "Keep going. I trust you." Enough to pour a few droplets of dittany, at least.

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