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[specifications]

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[congenitally]

[ On the other hand, Charles doesn't care. He's happy Arthur seems happy. He, personally, is thrilled. Which is obvious in every way but his speech--or perhaps too in the sudden onset lack of it--from the way he breathes to the way he still doesn't pull away quite that far. He stays where he is, propped above Arthur there on the bed, doing his damnedest not to aggravate any injury (at least those he knows about). ]

Good. Then I'm not all that sorry I woke you up.

[ Hell, with a concussion, he probably needs the monitoring, lest he end up in the Clinic, with--not a thought for right now. ]

[specifications]

[ Arthur snorts at that and then winces from it, ]

Please. I knew you weren't. Just like I knew you were going to try to find whatever excuse you could to stay.

[ A beat, ]

But now you don't have to.

[congenitally]

Good. [ Said matter-of-factly, as if this were already an obvious conclusion. The smile is small but no less present, as he leans in to kiss him again. It's softer this time, shorter. Sweet. ] Because I was going to run out of excuses eventually.