Uncrossing his legs, Malachi took the needle and thread.

That he could see was… a matter of opinion. Had it been any darker in the room, it would have been one he wholeheartedly agreed with.

As it was now, he waited until the doctor was faced away to fish the glasses out of his pocket and put them on. Didn’t need to give Arthur any more cause for concern, not when he’d agreed to let him do this.

(They looked… incredibly similar to the pair Arthur had worn before, but older. Decades older.)

“As if I would,” Malachi huffed, setting the needle and thread aside in favor of the alcohol.

Without warning, he poured it over the wound, watching the way the blood seemed to bubble and foam in reaction. Arthur was right, it was about as far from ‘nice’ as one could imagine, but Malachi was resolute.

He wiped the excess blood and liquid away with a bundle of gauze, and then took the needle and thread in hand to set about his work.

“Have you been hurt before?” he asked, carefully piercing the needle through his skin. “Like this, I mean.”