Jonathan Sims

John's soft reply has no business feeling as profound as it does; it's a sentiment they've each shared before, in many ways. But in light of the afternoon they've had, it seems unusually momentous. It's the final word on the matter; a closing statement so powerful there can be no argument. Martin answers it only with a tender smile, warmth swelling in his chest; then it's back to work as John reorients himself. Taking care of him is imperative, more important than anything else ever could or will be.

Martin always tries to be thorough with these, to devote as much care and attention as John's just devoted to him. He wants John to feel him; he wants to mend as much as he simply enjoys touching him. No one else gets to have this, and it is a privilege not to be handled lightly.

So he takes his sweet time. No more questions, no more disruptions. He allows John to rest, feeling him gradually relax by softening degrees beneath his hands like a physical proof of intense mutual trust. He works until he can feel John starting to drift, and then he slows, gentles, draws his hands away and settles down alongside him, curling an arm around him to pull him close. There, he thinks.