"Aeleus wouldn't even let me out of bed until I showed significant signs of recovery."

He gives an annoyed huff, but it's not quite entirely genuine. There's a definite fondness under it, as much as he resents being forcibly bedridden.

He glances down at the sleeve tug, again tensing for just a second. But the sleeves of his coat are very loose, so it seems unlikely that the boy's hand will brush the still delicate scar tissue on his forearm. He opts not to say anything about it, better not to risk a kid getting curious about the evidence of severe burns, and instead just turns toward the front of the train.