Jay coming home from a rough night out of patrol. Broke, beaten, and bruised. The hot water of the bath doesn’t seem to do enough justice against his aching body. Head tilted back against the edge of you tub, eyes sealed shut to try and block out the pain.
He’s glad you’re there with him, even if you just sit silently by him. It’s your presence that matters the most. And then Jason feels your hands trail along his shoulders peaking out of the water. Thumbs digging into the tense muscles, the fine lines on his face distorted in pain.
Blood was matted in his hair and you couldn’t tell if it was his or someone elses. Either way, you cupped your hands to rinse his hair. Jason didn’t think much of it, the hot water streaming down his face was nice. His curiosity peaked when he head the shampoo bottle clatter.
Jason swears that the moment your fingers thread through his hair he nearly cracks. It not only the motions of how good it feels against his scalp, but the closeness of it all. How could a simple task for washing hair be so sentimental? It was something that he did himself everyday, but to have you do it? He didn’t know something so mundane could bring himself to tears.
So when you noticed the few tears slipping down his face, it was easy to assume that you had hurt him further. You pulled your hands away and Jason sobs because the second your touch is gone he feels alone.
“Jason, baby, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No, god know,” Jason cups your face as you kneel down beside him. His beautiful eyes glossy with tears of love for you. “Please don’t leave, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Jay.”
