Wren full on leaned in to Aiden's touch on his face, his own hands still clutching to the one belonging to Aiden which he'd trapped. He knew well about places where people wanted you to do bad things, but those scars, like light burned into his retinas to be seen again in the dark, he couldn't figure out how those scars fit in. Every time he tried to think about it his mind went blank.
His face remained solemn at Aiden's praise, although he took it and tucked it away into a secret place inside him for later where he'd take it out and look at it again and feel warmed by it's glow. He'd been 'good boy' before but not in the same way that he had in the small room, not that way for Aiden. He needed that though, needed to know he was good but still, despite the way he craved that kind of validation... those scars still twined their way up Aiden's arms.
They hadn't been there the last time he'd seen him - he had some of his own, his feet still tender even now, his footprints worn away - and that plus the idea of Aiden having been in a bad place broke something inside Wren. He did what he rarely did for himself with sincerity and heartache, and as he watched Aiden slow, fat tears pooled in his eyes and broke, spilling down the sides of his face with the quiet impact of some old black and white silent movie that Wren was too young to have ever seen. Nothing could hurt him the same way as this, the proof of his failing Aiden.