Every touch feels foreign but reassuring. The fact that he can feel them at all is a confusing blessing. The fact that every touch is so gentle when for months all he's known is roughness is bewildering enough to keep him from pulling away entirely. He leans his forehead in against hers as though he doesn't quite remember how.

"It's not-- your fault," is all he can manage to assert. It will take time, before he can even begin to consider the rest, "Let's-- figure out my blame for when we've pieced it all together, nn?"

The kiss to his lips has him blinking in surprise again, more obviously now. He doesn't draw back, but he does still a little.

"You shouldn't," he answers her, voice soft, "You-- he wasn't lying, about what I did. I-- I really--" A breath, "All that alcohol, and the drugs-- not just pot, and-- Merlin, acting like a whore for-- one of his people. I-- 'm trash, Lily. You shouldn't want me coming home and-- infecting everything."

His breath trembles again. He vaguely wishes he could cry. At least he's able to respond when other people do.

"It's safe now," he agrees softly, "It's over. He's really gone."