“John, hush.” Harold’s armed made their way around his waist and John slid down to nestle his face into the curve of the other man’s neck. There were warm fingers running through his damp hair, confident fingertips digging into the muscles around his neck to try and ease the tension and trembling, and a familiar body slowly pressed him back into the bed. Soon there were blankets pulled up around them and John felt grounded.
“You matter, Harold,” John whispered as he shoved a hand beneath Harold’s shirt and splayed his fingers out against his lower back. “You’re life wasn’t worth the life of that senator.”
“That isn’t our decision, John. It never has been.” Harold replied gently, but there was a certain resolute tone beneath the kindness that caused John’s anxiety to spike.