He pries his hand loose and walks away; I let him. But now there's a worry gnawing deep within me, a worry that this boy - who always looks so wholesome, so reliable, so straightforward - may have depths to him I'm unaware of, layers of pain and secrecy I can't even fathom. That scar on his back is ugly. That gun inside that desk was ugly. What JunJie said was ugly, and everything together points to a past filled with a darkness Jai is pretending never existed. He's not dealing with it, not coming to terms, not making his peace, and that'll end up exploding in his face. That'll end up fucking him up real bad.
Do I really want to get involved? Do I really want to risk screwing him up? JunJie's right, he doesn't deserve I mess him up. I brew the tea, lather the toasts with butter and honey, the way I know he likes them. Watch, as he stands for the longest time in front of the windows, arms crossed over his bare chest, every single muscle bunched up and jumping in distress.