[The hand gets him to lift his head some. He peers at its offering, unsure. Damian isn’t use to touching, even after three years. He’s gotten better. His mother never touched him really unless it was to punish him.
But his father, Grayson—they do this sometimes. He thinks, before himself, maybe Dextera needs the touch. Hesitantly, he puts his hand into Dextera’s almost like he thinks the scorching white light will consume him again, like he thinks he might suddenly transform and rip the hand off.
His eyes lift to look at Dextera’s face. For once, he doesn’t seem all that certain of himself.]
no subject
But his father, Grayson—they do this sometimes. He thinks, before himself, maybe Dextera needs the touch. Hesitantly, he puts his hand into Dextera’s almost like he thinks the scorching white light will consume him again, like he thinks he might suddenly transform and rip the hand off.
His eyes lift to look at Dextera’s face. For once, he doesn’t seem all that certain of himself.]
I gu...ess... I owe... you m...y th...anks.