Initially his back protested mightily to all this unexpected pressure as it seemed Morgan hit a fresh spot of fascia every two inches and had to continually stop to work the knots out of the plane between his shoulder blades and up into the muscles from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. Either this was the result of too long sleeping on floors or the combined results of sleeping on floors and being on edge at a near constant rate (“No. I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Stop asking me if I need things.”) telling people over and over with wearying repetition that he was fine, fine, just fine.
But all that wound up tension that no one else seemed able to remove, it all seemed to go out of him with relative ease now. Therapy was highly overrated. Massage was clearly the thing. “So have you been in this profession long?” Nayan inquired somewhat sleepily.