"Bar is buried," Seifer corrects. He had been hunting. Not all monster class animals made for tasty eating, even if they were nutritious at times. "Made me thankful for wilderness survival courses."

Being forced to memorize what things could be eaten had been... important. It kept him alive this long.

As for Seifer, well, his eyes are drawn to motion. To the motion of Squall partially stripping down. He sees the scars, some of which he knows were left by his own blade. It makes him feel guilty. How could it do anything less? Honestly he wants to run away. To flee. Because Squall should surely remember in this moment why he should want Seifer dead.

Instead he steps forward and takes the offered wash cloth.

"Sorry I didn't get a loofah on a stick for his highness," he says as he wrings the water out of the washcloth a bit before reaching out to clean the guy's back.

Scarred, but still so beautiful. A temptation under his hands.

"I'm sorry you have to wear these marks."