"Might have been," he insists again, with a wry look in Eleven's direction, before starting to lift his ripped shirt away from the gash down his skin. He peers beneath with a speculative glance for a moment before automatically starting to pull his shirt up -- stopping abruptly, thinking better of it, and crossing to take a seat a few feet away. He doesn't meet El's eyes as he does it; only once his back is firmly turned out of Eleven's view and facing some sturdy wooden walls does he pull the tunic over his head, stopping to frown down at the torn fabric with almost more consternation than the long red line across his skin.

"Ah, it's fine. An easy fix." He too lays a hand against his wound, stirring the emotions within himself for a moment to touch the Force, mentally reaching for that cut to pull it back together. The faint trickle of darkness hanging in the air between them is perhaps becoming a familiar sensation by now.

A second later, he's hesitating as he glances up El's way again--

"......we could certainly... go again, though, some other day, if you would like? If it would suit you."

He hasn't said that he enjoyed himself or anything like that, but -- from the glance he's throwing El right now, he certainly looks as though he cares about the answer to his question.