He knew about Colby’s family, too. The layers of those bruises—not physical, but emotional, a slow brutal evisceration of Colby’s sense of self and self-worth—went back decades. They were working on it; their therapist said that Jason being here and being present, not leaving or threatening to leave, not making Colby work to earn every tiny crumb of affection, was the exact best thing he could do.
Jason hoped so.
He wished he could do more.
He wished he could plow through all of Colby’s demons. Like his character in this film, raising a sword. Lifting a shield. Fighting for a cause.
He knew Colby’s hands pretty well, by now. He found more healing, spread it over a bruise.
He knew the way those slim graceful fingers felt in his, on his body—in his body, and oh that was always a wonder,
