There's something startling about hearing something so familiar come out of a completely different person's mouth, unprompted, word for word in their context instead of his own and yet identical. K wanted Los Angeles to be safer, to be better, and he worked for that as best he could. It was limited, and nowhere near enough, but he did work for it.

And he was never, ever going to be a part of it. He looks over at Jesus, wishing with such clarity and force that it aches that he knew how to make a space at his side that Jesus would feel welcome in - but he doesn't.

So instead when they have to slow for a person in front of them to navigate a line out the door of a bar, he lets his hand brush Jesus's wrist. That's all, just a touch, but it's the best that he has.