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The night is smog-thick around him, his chest a black hole. What a failure of a person. Could not make the people hardwired for it love him, could not keep sunlight embodied in a little girl safe.
In the darkness, a hand gentle on his face, a whisper: "You are good, Jean." The hand migrates to his hair. “You are so good. You deserved better. I'm so sorry.”
He cannot believe Jeremy's words, but he can let himself be held and carried into daybreak, when a soft knock harbingers two more pairs of hands come to cradle him into okayness.