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Blake just stood there, puzzled as to why the man had been so adamant about him touching his scar. But it was completely normal for James to feel that way. The one he loved had picked up a knife in a rage, stabbing him with it. If he'd died there, that day, it would have been easier. A tragic event nonetheless, but at least he would have spared the pain of having to pick up the broken pieces and move on. The torment of knowing your loved one is near by, yet realizing that nothing can ever be the same between the two of you...
It was dark outside, and the only light in the room was coming from a lamp post, just outside his window. It was in that dim light Blake had gotten to see and feel James's scar. He felt so alone, seeing how the man had gotten out of bed, and was now hiding in the shadows, like a wounded animal.
Blake wanted to call for him, but held back, fearing it might make him retreat even further into his shell.
"I'm really sorry, I... I never meant to..."
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