He stays very still with that fingertip perched on his gel-cool skin, the smell a strange sideways echo of the scent he thinks of as John's--the cold between stars, the light of foreign moons, scents that humans would say aren't scents because they don't know how to breathe them in properly.
His eyes are doing that annoying tearing-up-thing again. John probably doesn't cry half this much. "I don't want to do it again."
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"Even though I really don't like torture. I don't want you to ever do something like that again."
He puts a fingertip on Edwin's nose.
"I'm not asking you to promise me. I'm just...telling you, that's a true thing. But I'm proud of you for thinking of him, and trying to make amends."
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His eyes are doing that annoying tearing-up-thing again. John probably doesn't cry half this much. "I don't want to do it again."
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"Thank you. I... I won't let him see it's me. Whatever it is. Because then he won't accept it, probably."