"Oh darling," he murmurs, soft and almost fond, turning his hand so that he can actually slide his fingers through Arthur's. "You're a twat. God."

He shifts though, letting go breifly to shrug his way out of one sleeve of the jacket and lift up the corner of his t-shirt. Curving its way around one of his older tattoos is small, black script 'J'ai allumé le feu.' He stays quiet though, knowing that Arthur will recognise it, knows that he'll understand where it's from.