The dilation of his eyes is a quiet little thing, easily overlooked unless one is making eye contact. Something just slightly off. Louis takes the little swat in stride but makes no move to return camaraderie in the same fashion. He remains locked in that same close-mouthed smile as he stares overlong at the dried blood and discolored skin. The smell of ointment assaults his senses as well.

"You look a right mess, Mr. Salamanca," he finally murmurs in a voice too quiet to carry. "Careful you don't get an infection. I've seen some nasty wounds in my time."

He then forces himself to blink, which he has not done since Lalo unwrapped it. He leans back in his seat as if pulling against a gentle but insistent string. He looks slightly dizzy or queasy. He's not, but pulling himself back from thirst looks like it.