But Colby took a deep breath, then, and actually looked at him; one hand made a tiny motion, a reach for Jason.
Jason dove in, given permission. Gathered his husband in tight. Held on. Colby was really trembling now, and Jason eased them to the floor, got him to sit, tried to get him to inhale and exhale. Deep. Careful. In and out. Again. More. Rhythm. Finding it.
Colby curled up against him, shaking harder, head to toe, but not crying; he hid his face in Jason’s neck, breaths ragged and too fast, but he was awake and present. Jason clung to that, and to him.
He rubbed Colby’s back. He whispered, “I’m here, I got you, it’s fine, it’s okay, you can cry, go on,” and pressed a kiss into Colby’s hair, tasting grief and tropical-fruit shampoo. “I love you, Colby, I’m here.”
“I’m not crying,
