Alfred is not quick to anger. He's been pushing all his rage down for the last twenty-five years, and he's never felt any the worse for it. But now it feels like a dam has broken, and as he is pulled down into Georg's lap, his tears feel hot, hands balling white-knuckled in the fabric of the older vampire's clothes.

"You will never be able to do that," he sobs, voice croaking, "If you continue being so unkind to yourself. That ink...you're pouring that ink all over YOURSELF, and you can't see that you're holding the bottle!"

He looks up at Georg, blue eyes blazing.

"I don't want you to treat yourself better for me...I'm crying because you are hurting, and I love you."