He tries to be gentle but his hold doesn’t feel that way.

“Stay still.” He commands, removing his hands to drench the rag in isopropyl. “It’s gonna sting.” He warns with a deep breath, placing the bottle down as the rag drips.

Jason tries to play it off, but it’s obvious in his eyes. He knows what caused these marks, he knows it was you.

He wants to ask why, he wants to slap some sense into you, but he knows those things won’t work. Yet he doesn’t know what would.

 Without a second notice, his rough hands press the rag into the raw cuts. The stinging sensation hits like a bunch of bricks. Even if he is helping, the look on his face is clear that this still hurts him.