Metanoia

I sat on Rory's bed and stroked his hair. He hadn't talked for three days, but he let me go as far as hugging him and kissing his cheeks. I could hear him at night, talking to himself, comforting himself.

He hadn't come back to sleeping in my bed.

It was understandable, too. I'd bruised his stomach pretty badly. He'd accepted my apology and watched me put Vincent's number into my blocked list and then delete him from my contacts.

We were on the road to recovery.

As I stroked his hair, his breathing deepened and he rolled over onto his back, boredly taking my hand and intertwining our fingers together. He pulled me down next to himself and kissed my cheek. "Hungry, Ro?" I asked.

He nodded and sat up. I sat up with him and he leaned on my chest. "Never mind. Don't go, Jace. Stay here with me, please."

I obliged him and wrapped my arm around him gently, taking care to avoid the bruised parts of his stomach. He sighed quietly. "Jace, please make me feel nice. I feel horrible. Everything hurts; I feel sick."

I nodded and kissed his jaw gently. "Are you sure, Ro? I don't want another thing to happen. You might tell someone and then I'd get in so much trouble."

He frowned and looked up at me. "No Jace, please, I promise I won't! You were right anyway, no one will even believe me if I say anything. Please?"

I chuckled softly to myself. "No, Rory. It's out of the question, alright?"

He huffed and pouted, leaning against me again. I kissed the top of his head softly and nuzzled his hair. "Don't worry, Rory. You'll feel better soon. Very soon, I promise."

He nodded and buried his face in my chest. This was definitely a road to making things normal again.