That last sentence, sad and simple as a child’s cry—it hurts, please hear me, please help—tore Kris’s heart to shreds. With claws.
They’d tumbled from the general to the specific; he knew who Justin had meant with that he. And Kris personally had no qualms about hating David Ross. Not when Justin hurt this much.
He held out the swirly sphere of flame. “Aren’t your hands cold? Here, share it with me…” Their fingers brushed; he laced his through Justin’s, keeping bare skin near heat. “I believe in love.” He’d not entirely intended to say so aloud; he meant it, but fumbled over what to say after. “I don’t know if that helps, and it probably sounds like a laugh coming from me, but I do. I might not be great at it, never was, but I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it, and you deserve all of it. And,
