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It's still dark when he hears Aventurine wake up with a strangled, soundless scream. Ripped out of his embrace to sit up, fraught with tears and shaking as if Atlas put the world on his shoulders. Vincit forces himself awake because Aventurine needs him. He doesn't immediately rush to comfort him, instead sitting up to tentatively take his hand and wait.
His eyes glow in the dark, staring straight ahead and wide as saucers as he relives an experience Vincit is sure was grotesque. He squeezes their fingers. Three times, because it was a message better sent in silence where Aventurine could overlook it. He nestles his chin on Aventurine's shoulder and waits a little more.
Breathing slows down, the shaking resides, Aventurine leans against him, and they trade squeezes through their hands. One to Aventurine that he returns to Vincit, similar to a heartbeat shared between them, "Can you–"
Aventurine moves fluently in the dark, grabs his other arm by the wrist and over his head so he can center himself in Vincit's lap. The back of his head thumps against his chest and Aventurine places his hand over the scarred flesh on the side of his neck, "Doesn't hurt."
"It does not." Vincit agrees, tender in how he traces it with his finger pads, "It's fully healed now, even if it will never look the same." Aventurine's body slumps and he lets go of his hand to pull him up against Vincit's chest. Legs splayed out so his Aventurine had a place to sit,
"Ugly isn't it?" The vulnerability in his tone has passed, replaced by a tired and dry acknowledgement. Vincit lifts his head and moves his mouth over the brand, he can feel the shudder and tension in response,
"It is an ugly word." Vincit agrees, "But it doesn't define you anymore, nor how sublime you are." He takes Aventurine's hand again before kissing the mark. There's a jump that goes through Aventurine's body and a flinch. He's sure many in the past have hurt him here, to remind him of the nonsensical idea he was property,
"Sublime– really, Doc?" There's a warble to him inflection that is a crack in the facade he had yet to fully harden anyway,
"Yes, sublime. May I kiss you again?" He doesn't want Aventurine to associate him with painful memories. Doesn't want the past to be only experience he's grown used to. Still, it was not his place to push. There's a contemplative silence before his hand is squeezed tightly,
"Yeah." Vincit is careful, doesn't abruptly start at that point again but instead trails kisses along a bony shoulder, upward to the brand on his neck. The death grip on his hand doesn't lessen at first, Aventurine makes no attempt to hide how uncomfortable it is for him.
He doesn't count how many kisses it takes or how long it's been. The side of Aventurine's neck is properly worshipped and the man himself seems half asleep in his arms. Vincit maneuvers them both to lay down again, Aventurine sighs and it sounds content.
Perhaps because the uncomfortable moment was over, Vincit bites back an apology. Then Aventurine nestles into his body again, cupping Vincit's face to give a sleepy kiss. His heartbeat is inconsistent and too fast. How basic affection could leave him so mindless in joy was beyond him.
Aventurine promptly falls asleep, leaving him to calm his racing heart before drifting off himself.