“...in case you are hurt,” Cassius finishes at Doctor Hugh's coaxing, the maggot crossing over onto his companion’s waiting palm. Cassius gives a long, deliberate look towards the glass, then, heavy with a Hunter’s promise. He lets it linger for a moment longer before turning his attention back to his palm. He pinches the seam upon his hand closed, guides his worms into sealing it shut. “For whatever reason, Doctor Hugh.”

(He has seen the crack under the door. More than enough space there for a worm. A dozen. A million.

If Doctor Hugh needs him, he will be there. The humans will just have to adjust to having their decontamination process interrupted.)

When his seam has glued itself back together, he lets his hand drop, his gaze moving his maggot. It is now curled against Doctor Hugh’s thumb like a ring, hiding away blotted purple (comforting it in ways Cassius himself cannot), and absorbing as much of his heat as it can before it is inevitably moved.

(Cassius can faintly feel it, too, that heat. It makes him miss it all the more. Keeps him lingering in Doctor Hugh’s personal bubble instead of stepping back.)

He tilts his head, the thin layer of his eyes catching the overhead light. “But… please. Try to be careful, Doctor Hugh. You are not my Hunter.”