It doesn't kill the mood as much as alter it, at least that's how it seems to Demetri. "That's no knife-" he says softly, a hand hovering over one of the fairly newish marks. His mouth pulls tight but in concern and not displeasure.

Slowly and gently, Demetri traces fingers along the edge of the scars, careful to not press lest he hurt Fabrice. They're larger than Demetri imagined and Fabrice is luckier than he even thought to still be alive bearing wounds like these. But they do nothing to mar the other man's beauty. It's something Demetri is sure shows in his eyes as he looks back up, the heat still there if somewhat subdued.

"I've never noticed how beautiful you are before today." And how lucky, he wants to add, but doesn't. That seems like tempting something, whatever it is that made those wounds. He unbuttons his own shirt, not wanting the other man to be the only one feeling exposed. Demetri isn't actually sure what he's thinking anymore when he lifts Fabrice's hand, holding it over his heart. "Like I said- Some of our scars are more figurative."