Credence is not wrong -- that is a unique kind of manipulation too, isn't it? Graves is aware of the wonder in Credence's eyes, the excitement and delight; displacing the pain from his wounds temporarily, it seems, but it's short-lived when he senses the discomfort, as if Graves has intruded into a secret that Credence jealously guards, one that is only for himself.
He understands the feeling.
"Easy." He says quietly, taking care to help him with it. Graves is gentle, focused, peeling the bandages off slowly to prevent any more discomfort. Graves can do more -- if he had been at full power, the wounds wouldn't have been too much of a problem, but there's no crying over spilled milk now. His attention, at the moment, is centered on how Credence is shaking, the curious tremble in his fingers, but he doesn't say a word. He patiently waits, assists, until all his bandages are in a pile, now filthy.
He sets the clean roll of bandages between them, gesturing briefly, but not making a move until Credence permits. "May I?"
no subject
He understands the feeling.
"Easy." He says quietly, taking care to help him with it. Graves is gentle, focused, peeling the bandages off slowly to prevent any more discomfort. Graves can do more -- if he had been at full power, the wounds wouldn't have been too much of a problem, but there's no crying over spilled milk now. His attention, at the moment, is centered on how Credence is shaking, the curious tremble in his fingers, but he doesn't say a word. He patiently waits, assists, until all his bandages are in a pile, now filthy.
He sets the clean roll of bandages between them, gesturing briefly, but not making a move until Credence permits. "May I?"