“You love him, man,” was what Jensen did say. “You love him so much, you’re making plans to go to hell for him.”

“That night Tommy kissed him and eased his way into Chase’s body so gently that when Chase came, his vision washed in white, not red, and it did for him what sex with Tommy always did for him: set him free and let him fly.”

“Oh gods... oh gods... I had hurt him... so many times, I had hurt him. By trying to hurt myself, I had hurt him. By trying to push him away, I had hurt him. Every time I opened my mouth and belittled myself with my "turns of rough poetry", I had sliced his heart as fine as my wrists. I did not know why he loved me as he did. I might never know. But as I stood there and held him, my back nagging at me and my leg screaming in protest, I realized that the least I could do was welcome his love with an open heart. And part of doing that was loving myself enough to want to live.”

“I’ve loved him since I’ve known him, Mrs. Daniels. He just finally stopped fighting.”

“So,” Asa said conversationally, “want to go home and play butterflies?” Sebastian grimaced. “Do you promise not to pull my wings off?” Asa looked at him sideways. “Do you promise to fly back?”

“The scarf could go on and on and on and on, and it could be the harlot-red banner of shame that wrapped him up and kept him warm when the nights grew lonely and cold.”

“Yes. You couldn’t make anyone else happy. He tried to tell himself that, and drink through the buzzing little voice saying that, for a few short weeks, he actually had made someone else happy. And Owen had made him happy too.”