Gently Adam shut the door behind them, leaving it unlocked given the man's clearly spooked demeanor, unwilling to in any way seem threatening. Again he peered at his hand, his innate curiosity piqued at the lack of any obvious injury. It was not the first time he had served as impromptu medical advisor for his fellow tenants, and it would surely not be the last; some part of Adam truly loved it, feeling that in this way he served a purpose, aiding his friends and acquaintances in what modest ways he could. "It's alright," he said, a small, reassuring smile quirking at the corner of his lips. "My friends come over a lot for this kind of thing. The door's always open. Mind if I look?"
Gingerly he took Joaquin's hand in his, pale flesh to pale flesh, clasping it only loosely. Immediately he felt a strange heat coursing through him, pulsing like a living flame. He knitted his brow, turning over the hand in his own. "Do you have a history of arthritis?" he asked, his voice sounding distant, distracted. He felt certain he already knew the answer, but training and habit demanded he ask anyway. "I know you're young for that, but sometimes..."