Contact was a dangerous thing. Once it seeped under your skin, you could never quite forget it. It became a part of you that was difficult to ignore. Eventually all the warmth was leeched out of you until it was just a memory.

He frowned at his own face in the mirror, almost regretting asking for one, but knew it was a worse idea than to miss a bit of blood.

All his.

He pressed away the memory.

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll keep."