[ His muscles bunch up when Allen tries to sway him to touch his cheek, and in what might be the first time since they've met, Shouto resists his hold, snatching his hand back to his chest where his fingers bunch up against the fabric of his uniform made specifically for him. His eyes flick down to his stomach again, yet the absence of burn marks fails to erase that strained look or ease that white-knuckled hold. ]
no subject
I should have asked.
[ He manages in the softest tone. ]