Caleb noticeably relaxes. "I thought so," he says, relieved. Relieved also that he can appreciate his work without guilt, because there is no doubt that he does appreciate it. Thinking of Yussa undressing and seeing bruises he'd left over his breasts for days--weeks, even--before they fade is deeply appealing.

Presuming, of course, that he doesn't heal them somehow. But Caleb will retain his private fantasy, at least.

As Yussa begins to redress, Caleb begins to collect his own clothing, still feeling a bit like his head is stuffed with cotton.

"Is this something you have encountered here before? Whatever...happened with me yesterday?" he asks. Tired of his hair flopping into his face, he simply pulls it back without bothering to so much as attempt combing it neatly.