[He isn't sure how it feels for someone to say they like his scar. But...]

[It also feels like he's being told that someone likes his whole face. Not most of it in spite of part of it. And he's too tired to correct him. He doesn't want to think about why he has the scar, just wants to accept the compliment.]

[And he doesn't want to make Dylan think about him rejecting the compliment. About why.]

[He doesn't want to reject his compliment of his eyes either. He doesn't want to explain why they are the way they are.]

[So he accepts it. Melts into the warmth of the blanket and the compliments. He tries to let it all go. Reservations. Worries about who he used to be and what that means when it comes to what he deserves.]

[Maybe it's okay to just let himself be cared about.]

I like your eyes, too.

[He yawns, closes his eyes, and his voice gets thick with sleepiness. He's too sleepy and a little too drugged to realize what he's saying.]

And it was really nice dancing with you at the masquerade ball. I wish I'd asked you earlier. So we could've danced longer...

[Then he's out again. And no, he won't remember he said that very last bit.]