Octavian had two sets of eyes. The soft lavender set he'd stared into before but the second set was black as a void. A tiny white spot darting about, was it a pupil? It'd make sense if it was. But Byron didn't understand why it was darting about like that...was he looking Byron over? Any sign that he had killed another mutant before Octavian showed up? The idea made him sick. He couldn't kill anyone, it was the reason he was on guard duty in the first place. He'd lifted the gun, aimed it at the boy but...couldn't pull the trigger. It didn't matter what form he was in, he was still just a child. A small child clutching at his dead mother not understanding...<br/><br/>Byron was pulled back to the present by Octavian's hand on his wrist, by that gentle tug. He looked back into those two sets of eyes and maybe he should have been scared or disgusted or something, but he just felt grateful. Happy. That someone seemed concerned, worried about him. No one ever was. He was always alone. Ignored by the people he'd wanted to protect. Dismissed. No one giving a thought to what he felt just because his face was blank. But outside the wall, where everyone was supposed to be horrible, vile, monsters was someone who seemed to actually give a damn and he liked the watch. He liked the watch, though it was broken he'd still found it beautiful.<br/><br/>He'd only take it if Byron showed him his back though. He wasn't happy about having to remove his shirt, mostly because it'd re-open his wounds but...he didn't want Octavian to leave. If he left Byron would be alone again. With no one to care if he was hurt or help him take care of his injuries. Maybe he should have been worried about stepping through the gap. Going to some place that no pure human had gone in years, yet Byron didn't hesitate. He grabbed his lantern and left his rifle heading to the other side of the wall. Once there he stopped and sat the lantern down and the watch next to it. He then started on his clothing unbuttoning his vest and folding it to set it down in the grass. His shirt was more challenging. Much as he feared it clung to his back and when he managed to pull it free, he couldn't hold back the whimper. It also started to bleed again. He could feel it running down his back from the thin cuts that covered his back.<br/><br/>He shivered as a breeze skittered over his bare skin. What did Octavian think of his back. The fresh wounds from the whip piled atop old scars. A tally on his back that went higher than he could count. One for every perceived slight. Ten for simple mistakes others weren't punished for. Twenty for lies he hadn't told. More if he'd managed to do something to anger one of the higher ups.<br/><br/>Maybe...Maybe if he started talking Octavian wouldn't ask why he'd gotten punished. HE wouldn't look at him like everyone else did. Like he was some broken thing. A failure.<br/><br/>"Y-y-your eyes are pretty. Both sets," Byron's voice wobbled a little at the beginning and he hoped he didn't sound like an idiot. How did one give compliments? Was it odd to compliment another man on his eyes? To call them pretty? He didn't know but they where. Such contrasting colors and Byron did like them.