[dan heng flinches so hard at- all of it, really, that there's a clatter in the toy box. it needn't be said how easy it is to take the words personally, and in spite of his own track record it's never brought him joy to stab blade. knowing who he is makes it worse. everything they've just done makes it worse.

but he bites his lip bloody (bloodier) and blinks away the wetness in his eyes. finds what they need and whirls to face them again, the cuffs in one hand and a ring gag in the other. he freezes, momentarily scruffed by the horrors of experience-- an injured blade is not a safe thing. the rising stink of his blood, so pleasant in small amounts on his tongue, now just makes it much harder to force himself closer.

still, he does. he brings himself closer through sheer stubbornness.]