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Β Β Β brandonβs sigh is so heavy that you could probably feel its weight all the way across the gym. he grumbles then when the blood returns to his chilled veins, something about iβm not looking at you like anything, mumbled under his breath as his shoulders lose their tense ridge. jasonβs fine, he tells himself, other hand curling around the back of the vigilanteβs neck to cradle the base of his head, fingers brushing loose black waves. heβs fine. heβs breathing. heβs fine.
Β Β Β brandon slumps against him then, trying to let the panic ebb out. visions of electric scarring, swollen limbs, twitching contusions and split spines dance behind his eyelids β- but he pushes them away and holds on to jasonβs shirt. quietly, then: Β β β¦ βm sorry. β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β jason takes light measures to briefly suppress the small bit of laughter that bubbles in his throat at brandonβs sigh; itβs a sound heβs not all that unaccustomed to, given itβs exasperation is practically a part of daily routine by this point. so to hear it now is not all that unexpected. but he reins it back in when brandonβs head dips, an apology muttered into the fabric of his shirt, and scales it down to a soft grin. he knows itβs hard for brandon -- hard to feel even the slightest bit out of control with powers as volatile as these. he knows how much brandon fears it, fears hurting the people he cares about.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β so he drops a hand over the nap of brandonβs neck with a huff of his own.Β Β βΒ yeah, well. thatβll teach me tβ say hit harder, huh?Β βΒ Β really its his own fault for egging the avenger on in the first place.