"Ah," is his only immediate reply, looking down at the exposed, reddening skin with mild surprise. He hadn't thought his previous action all that strange, considering it's him, but now her own response makes a little more sense.

He hums a stray note, figuring he'll just have to keep his hands to himself. Well--his hands aren't the problem, but it's the same idea (he can't help that her skin's such a pretty color and she smells nice and... well...).

"I dunno," he leans in a little, "I'm kind of impressed you haven't been wincing until now. Not bad." He means it as a compliment, honestly, as he reaches forward to brush his fingers along that bizarre black pattern. He can't tell if the skin is warm because of the marks or because of how the skin is inflamed... but he aims to fix that soon.

Just the same as before, he moves over the marks, as if tracing invisible lines that only he can see. He works his way up, energy shifting between the two of them and letting out some of the tension stored up in his fingers, muscles, bones. He stops at her side, pressing his palm lightly against her lower ribs, waiting patiently for the marks to disappear.