"This is my home."

Placing his hand on Louis' bare chest, a musical little settling of his fingers. "I have no hesitations."

His other hand, folded between them, covers Louis' where it's wandered up to that bruising. In the slanted firelight, a little smile as he presses the other man's fingers against the discolouration, drawing in a breath at the throb of pain, and otherwise, that it inspires.

But—

"I might have made some amendments for the conditions, had I felt the court would hear them."