The slightest sigh dropped from his lip at the kiss to the palm of his hand. So it was true, Atticus was hurting and he was to blame.<br/>He should not care. Afterall, what was Atticus to him anyway?<br/>But he did. And he was all he wanted.<br/>Had he not saved him from his past himself? Had he not done what he had done to the man who had scarred him up like this?<br/><br/>Then why could he not, not even in the privacy of his own mind, form the words this man probably needed to hear..?<br/><br/>Atticus' words pulled a short chuckle from him.<br/>"Of course I am..," he said, leaning into brush his lips along his, not sparing the one he'd wounded.<br/>"Mary's probably drenched by the steam of your bath by now, Louis...," he murmured, then licked at that small injury, recalling the one he made in his neck.<br/>"You really should take that bath before I decide to take you on this here desk..."