[Something in that sentiment still fucking terrifies him, but the edge isn't so sharp when Derek's voice sounds like that. Friends. Belonging. He isn't sure he even really had that in Henrietta.

His hand moves and his hips jump a bit, stomach briefly tensing. Maybe when he's not so fucking worked up he can even revisit that part of the conversation. Right now, though, he loses himself as Derek keeps talking, letting those words burn across his nerves.

The camera moves and Derek gets a good look at Kavinsky's face: lips parted as he breathes, eyes dark, warmth creeping into his face.]

It's not just the bruises and shit. You've got me marked up all over, Hale. I couldn't scrub you off if I tried.

[And he doesn't want to. Kavinsky groans quietly and drops his head back for a second.]

Door's open.