[ While Louis speaks, he listens attentively; the last time he heard of Louis facing such torment was reading it from the pages of a book, unless his confession about the night of the concert counts, so he owes him at least this quiet respect for such a vulnerability.

One of his hands ends up in Louis' hair without much thought to it, pushing the dark strands back from his face, fingertips raking lightly against his scalp in what he can only hope is a soothing manner. ]

She didn't tell me how it happened...

[ His voice is a little quiet and completely contrasts the volume of his thoughts - had that been why Louis was so reluctant in their apartment before? Had it been the memory of him drained dry, the thought that he might not be able to stop? He hadn't known, and he'd felt so bitter... ]

I thought you'd had a vision of... Oh, Louis. [ He tips his chin to press a closed mouthed kiss to Louis' forehead. ] What a torture that must have been, in more ways than one.