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I hate that word for him.

But that’s what he looks like.

Small.

I approach slowly. His eyes aren’t on me. They’re fixed somewhere just past the floor, unfocused in a way I do not like.

“Ilya?”

I come closer, lower myself into a crouch a few feet in front of him, and try again, quieter this time.

“Ilya.”

His breathing is there, but shallow. And I make the mistake of touching him.

My hand reaches for his shoulder, and his head snaps up at the exact moment the knife he was holding in his hand goes straight into my shoulder.

Pain flares through my arm and across my chest, and my body goes rigid, but I don’t pull away. More importantly, I don’t feel the sudden dizzy drop that would’ve followed if he’d used one of the poisoned blades.

That’s good, because I don’t want to fall unconscious right now. However, it still hurts like hell.

But I stay exactly where I am, crouched in front of him with steel in my shoulder and his hand still wrapped around the knife.

“My, my,” I murmur. “Little prince, always so violent.”

His grip tightens, and the blade sinks deeper by a fraction. I swallow the pain and raise my free hand carefully, placing it against his hair.

He still doesn’t really see me. His eyes are on my face, but they’re not landing there. They’re looking through me.

So I stroke his hair and lower my voice to something softer than I usually let him hear.

“Come out,” I whisper. “Where did you go?”

I lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head. His eyes blink once, then the distance in them cracks.

He sees me.

“K… Kento.”

The stutter nearly kills me.

“Hi, baby.”

His fingers loosen on the knife like they want to let go but don’t know how. His eyes go wide in that helpless, hunted way I hate seeing on him. I can’t stand it. I much prefer when he’s glaring at me.

I reach into my pocket with my good hand and pull out a raspberry lollipop.

I unwrap it quickly, blood beginning to slide warmer down my arm now, and bring it to his mouth. “Breathe.”

He blinks at me in confusion.

I guess he’s still too shocked to fight properly, because he lets me place the candy against his lips.

“That’s it.”

His mouth closes around it, and something in him seems to catch on the simple familiarity of the action.

I keep my hand in his hair and stroke slowly as I watch him regulate himself piece by piece.