Jack's eyes seemed distant, his mind elsewhere as he ran his fingers through your hair. His nails grazed your scalp as he debated if he even deserved to feel happiness like what you brought him. However, his thoughts were cut off by a quiet whine from you when he realized he'd been digging his nails into your scalp

"Sorry," Was all he brought himself to say before peppering kisses atop your head and bringing his free hand down to gingerly rub your back. The covers were strewn about in an almost obnoxious display of roughhousing but he assured you he'd take care of it. With a quiet huff, he sat up and rubbed your hip affectionately, he hadn't thought he'd been too harsh or rough but it had also been a while since he'd tried to do anything gentle or careful so he supposed there was margin for error

Christ, if he'd hurt you he would certainly feel terrible but he wasn't entirely sure how to help with it. Instead, he just planted another barrage of kisses along your neck and atop your head before pulling on his undergarments and moving to the hallway closet where he produced a small washrag. From there he took what he hoped was great care as he approached you again, kissed your forehead for your attention, and then had you sit up. From there he got to work cleaning sweat and other substances off your body

He wasn't particularly present in the relationship the majority of times, he loved you deeply yes, but he couldn't love himself or the person he seemed to be shaping out to be. He didn't deserve you. You were too good for him and now he'd gone and strained or hurt you. He hated himself he-

He cut himself off as he watched the red marks on your skin begin to appear where he'd been dragging the rag with vigor while losing himself in his thoughts. He repeated the cycle of kissing up and down your neck before apologizing, resuming, and finishing his efforts of cleaning you off. Eventually tossing the rag to the side and suggesting he give you a shower. Quietly asking: "That sound okay with you?"