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“How beautiful, your body utterly ruined by me, you were made for this, made for me Rody. You’re mine, all mine.”
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He needs to get some air and stop thinking, he wants to enjoy for a moment the new life that awaits them, to calm the furious beating of his heart, to convince his brain that Damian is okay and that he hasn't really lost him, as he believed for a long moment up there in the galaxy above them. But when he turns the corner, Jon sees Damian's figure, his right arm in a cast, the crutch under his left armpit, and the bandage covering half his face, hiding the scars on his cheeks and the scar that marked his right eye.
"D?" Jon's eyes widen and he runs up to him, putting a hand around his waist to support him in light of his friend's limp gait. "What are you doing up? You need to rest!" Jon's tone is urgent, maybe even angry, but Damian doesn't seem to mind, just slapping a hand on his forearm.
"I'm fine. It's not like I'm dying," Damian retorts, and Jon tightens his lips and thins his eyelids, resisting the urge to headbutt him.
"I wouldn't joke if I were you, 'cause that's exactly what you were going to do."