The winter teen's hands come away from his face; the skin around his eyes is red and blistered, the embers having been doubly effective against him. But he reaches up and drapes his arms behind Oliver, feeling the blade stiffen then bite against his flesh before sliding away as he hugs the man, as much as is possible for still being pinned down.

"It's okay," he mumbled into the leather on Oliver's shoulder, his eyes closed as the vibrations of the words telegraph through the knife's metal. "Not everyone is afraid of you."