#Chapter7
It was harder said than done to relax. Nobody, besides Jackson, had ever washed him before, and even though he had done the same yesterday, he still wasn't used to it. The only issue was that yesterday, Jackson hadn't washed his hair, and today, he went to.
And whilst that wasn't an issue for most people, the feeling of Jackson's fingers curling in his hair triggered something, a deep-rooted memory that he had thought he had moved past. He recoiled so harshly that water sprayed over the side of the tub, soaking the tiled flooring, as well as Jackson himself. The baby blue polo neck he was wearing turned a navy shade, and his khakis darkened considerably in patches.
/"Sorry,/" Sly squeaked when his heart settled. Only to be replaced by a newfound terror as he realized what he had done. Bracing himself for Jackson to get mad, peeking up at him with caution, he didn't find anger anywhere on the man's face. Instead, he found worry and confusion.