[ Tears start to roll down Algric’s cheeks again as he leans in, forehead against Jon’s. His mother’s voice whispers that that’s a lie, that Algric is trapped in his own past, doomed to repeat his mother’s miseries. How could anyone love him? How can Jon love him? How? How?

And Jon tells him how. It should be laughable how ridiculous it is - sticking around to defend Jon from murder, really? - but to him, it’s comfort. Nearly romantic? More romantic for being so over the top. That means it’s honest. That means ...

He leans against Jon, dragging him in for a hug. And then he begins to weep again. This time, it’s more like lancing a wound; it’s still misery that spills out of him, but something healthier follows, pink and raw but better. ]