Oliver's eyes moved back to the destroyed brush, one brow arching as he straightened from his lean, then planted his good hand on his hip. "You dropped it," he echoed dryly.
Looking back to Edwin, he could feel his anxiety damper down, replaced with a different kind of worry. Edwin himself didn't seem to be any more hurt than he had upon coming into the bathroom, which was good, but at least then he'd be able to pinpoint what exactly was wrong. As he neared the tub, he wanted to crouch, but knew that his knee wasn't going to cooperate too well with that. Instead, he carefully perched next to Edwin on the side with his good eye, his hand moving to slide over his boyfriend's knee and thigh. "...Sorry I snapped at you...I just..." He shook his head, feeling like this wasn't the best time to get into that, and it wasn't important now. "What's wrong?"