It's a relief when the plug is taken out of him. The widened opening twitches in the cool breath of air that ghosts both over it and into him. He can rest his jaw and throat, finally, though he's still unable to close his mouth all the way. Even his bones feel stiff.

Watching the man move to examine his chest, Shinjirou chews lightly on his bottom lip. There isn't a lot of pressure in the man's touch and yet it makes him nervous: He hurts and certain patches of skin are feverishly hot against the dry palm that's cupping every edge and curve. Just bruises, he tells himself, and exhales slowly.

"Yes." His voice sounds like a death rattle. Probably a bad idea to speak at all, but the need to reassure both the stranger and himself is too strong to keep quiet. His gaze becomes empty as he watches the pattern on the floor start to dance before his eyes. Pretty. "Sir."