[ Jesse groans, rolling over and pressing his hands to his face. He feels like dogshit. Which is how he feels most mornings, these days, but today seems a little worse than usual. There's a vague feeling of guilt underpinning it all, the sense that he'd done something wrong, let someone down somehow -
Then Daryl speaks and it all comes flooding back. What fuzzy, half-formed memories he has of the night before, anyway. He opens his eyes, dropping his hands to stare at the ceiling, then slowly, slowly raises his head to look. Daryl's there. Sitting at the window in one of the chairs Jesse had carved. Here, in the apartment Jesse hadn't yet told him about, the one he was - he was working on fixing up, making perfect -
Clearly, he's been there all night. Keeping watch. Waiting for Jesse to wake.
Jesse drops his head to the floor again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. ]
[ He lets a soft sound out of his nose that goes along with the slight roll of his eyes, but Daryl doesn't move. Jesse still seems utterly comfortable with where they are, just like he had last night, so he isn't going to force the kid to rush. Not after how wasted he'd been the night before. It isn't like Daryl hadn't white-knuckled his way through a thousand mornings like this one must be for Jesse. But that had been a long time ago.
He thinks about lighting one of Quentin's dummy cigarettes but he doesn't. He wants a clear head and who knows what's going to happen the first time he tries one of those? ]
[ What the hell is this place? Daryl asks, and Jesse wants to cry. He'd dreamed about the moment when Daryl saw the apartment for the first time. Jesse opening the door, leading him up the stairs to a cozy, homey room, the sun streaming through windows framed with curtains he hasn't yet hung, onto the warm brown wood of furniture he hasn't yet built. A place just for them, better than the boarding house or Daryl's camp in the woods. Safe and private and all their own.
Not this empty, half-assed space, abandoned halfway through. He looks around, seeing it through Daryl's eyes. It looks like someplace he might've broken into, a former crack house maybe, someplace to crash after one bender after another. And isn't that exactly what it is? He shakes his head, dragging himself up off his rumpled nest of blankets the floor, staring dully at the pile of dirty dishes next to the sink. ]
[ That mumbled yet is what saves his heart from what ends up just a glancing blow. It's clear enough that this is where Jesse has been staying and that he doesn't have any intention of returning to the boarding house. It's where he was snatched from, for all Daryl knows. He's never liked it, crowded and impersonal, no real privacy to speak of. Daryl can't blame him.
But the thought of being left behind had stung. Bad. He'd sat with it most of the night, wondering, letting it weigh down on him. He still isn't sure that the worst case scenario he's already talked himself into accepting isn't true. ]
You gonna be straight with me? Or what?
[ He realizes his heart is pounding in his chest. He tries to sit very, very still. ]
You want me outta here?
[ Out of here, out of his face. Just away from him. Isn't that what Jesse had wanted before disappearing? Before running off? ]
[ Jesse feels miserable. He'd never wanted Daryl to see him like this. He hadn't even realized how pathetic it was until now. What had happened? It had started off exciting, sleeping on the floor in the empty apartment, slowly starting to move his things in, full of dreams about what it would turn into. He'd even carved and assembled the table and chairs. Sanded and polished them. They're simple, sure, but beautiful. But standing on their own like that, they look like nothing at all.
He drops himself into the other chair now, leaning forward to press his face into his hands. Why had he ever thought this would work? Why had he thought it was a good idea? He's never built anything good that he didn't lose or destroy in the end. Everything from selling the box he'd worked on for months in high school shop class just for some weed, to watching Jane and Andrea die. Because of him. Even in his dream, the same thing had happened to Lottie. They'd had everything and then she'd bled out in his arms, killed because of choices he'd made, and Jesse couldn't do a thing to save her.
What had made him think he could build something here, with Daryl? He can't. He's never been able to. ]
...yeah.
[ It's so quiet he barely hears it himself. He sniffles, throat feeling tight. ]
You should get outta here.
Find someone...someone else.
[ Someone good for him. Someone who doesn't fuck up or ruin everything he touches, the way Jesse does. ]
[ It's a good thing that Daryl has so much practice holding on tight to his nerves, forcing all his turmoil down into stillness. Jesse is trying his blood pressure now. The kid drops into the chair opposite him, hides his face, avoids him even now when he's right in front of him. And Daryl just waits. Dumb, helpless. He's trapped, he realizes. As much as he's ever been. He can only wait out this pain, this emergency as his adrenaline is telling him. He can't anticipate what's about to happen.
But he can. He knows it before Jesse says it. Daryl inhales the tiniest bit through his nose when the crack in his heart shatters properly, but that's it. Nothing else shows on his face as he dies a little.
There's a delay where he can't make himself respond and then he stands up with an awkward lurch. The chair scrapes behind him, loud in the empty space. He doesn't move for the door immediately, he just stands there. Looming, unable to look at Jesse. He looks out the window, down at the empty street, the fingers of one hand fidgeting silently. ]
It don't work like that.
[ He's not sure he works at all, not like this, but he knows there's no one else. No one he trusts like this. No one he wants. He doesn't even really understand what Jesse's telling him to do. ]
[ Jesse's never really broken up with anyone. Most of his relationships hadn't been that serious, and those that were had ended in tragedy.
This doesn't feel any better, it turns out. Even if he's not sure if this even really is a breakup. He and Daryl had never gotten around to defining their relationship. It's not like dating any girl had ever been.
It's something, though. Something intense, and important, and his whole chest aches when he thinks of Daryl walking out that door. When he thinks of staying here alone in this apartment he'd gotten for the two of them, the one he'd meant - honestly meant - to fix up.
He hadn't fixed it up, though. He's barely managed to hang onto his job, let alone do any work on the side. All he's done is drink and smoke and go to the brothel to get fucked until he can't think anymore. Daryl deserves better than that.
He shakes his head, not understanding any more than Daryl does what the other is trying to say. He'll find someone. Of course he will. He's strong, and brave, and any inexperience he has in bed is far outmatched by his passion and assertiveness. Jesse, though? Jesse's a mess. ]
M'sorry.
[ But it's not a retraction. He's standing by what he'd said. A single tear trails down his cheek and falls, beading on the glossy varnish he'd applied so carefully to the table. Back before he threw everything away again. ]
[ For a long time it feels as though something is hanging there in the room with them, lingering and unfinished. Then Jesse apologizes and he knows that's it. It's done, whatever it was. Daryl's never known how to fight these fights and he's never wanted to. Never felt he deserved to. He'd let Jesse down, everything had gone wrong, and now here they are. Just like it always goes, he assumes.
He doesn't see the tear because he can't make himself look at him. He just nods, far too quickly after Jesse says his name, and swallows. The words take a little longer. They're finally pulled up from somewhere simple and vulnerable. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Just flat. Not bitter or angry, just empty. Like he should have known all of this was coming. Should have anticipated and avoided this conversation somehow. But it's too late to save any face. It's as honest as he can be. He's real damn sorry. Scared for Jesse, worried about the state he's in, knowing he's being asked not to care.
He doesn't run. He at least won't let himself do that. He nods again, slower this time, picks up his pack and laboriously lifts it and his poncho over his head to drape across his shoulders. He's stiff from having sat up the whole night. Dwelling on this.
Now that it's happened, he just feels tired. ]
Don't die. [ His worst fear for him. Somehow he feels guilty already. ] Whole thing really hurts.
[ And he just lets himself out, taking his time down the stairs and closing the door at the bottom quietly behind him. Hoping the kid knows enough to at least lock it after him. ]
[ It feels like his whole chest is constricting around his heart, squeezing the life out of it. A retraction is there, on the tip of his tongue. Wait. I'm sorry. Please, please don't go.
But it's too late for that. He sits there, unable to move, unable to speak, his expression crumpling into one of grief and despair. Daryl doesn't even see it. He picks up his things and plods out the door, each footstep echoing in the near-empty apartment. Then the door closes at the bottom of the stairs, the click clearly audible in the silence, and Jesse lets his head drop, a raw, ragged sob dredged up from deep in his chest escaping him. ]
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no subject
Then Daryl speaks and it all comes flooding back. What fuzzy, half-formed memories he has of the night before, anyway. He opens his eyes, dropping his hands to stare at the ceiling, then slowly, slowly raises his head to look. Daryl's there. Sitting at the window in one of the chairs Jesse had carved. Here, in the apartment Jesse hadn't yet told him about, the one he was - he was working on fixing up, making perfect -
Clearly, he's been there all night. Keeping watch. Waiting for Jesse to wake.
Jesse drops his head to the floor again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. ]
Shit.
no subject
He thinks about lighting one of Quentin's dummy cigarettes but he doesn't. He wants a clear head and who knows what's going to happen the first time he tries one of those? ]
What the hell is this place?
no subject
Not this empty, half-assed space, abandoned halfway through. He looks around, seeing it through Daryl's eyes. It looks like someplace he might've broken into, a former crack house maybe, someplace to crash after one bender after another. And isn't that exactly what it is? He shakes his head, dragging himself up off his rumpled nest of blankets the floor, staring dully at the pile of dirty dishes next to the sink. ]
Nothin'.
You weren't s'posed to be here yet.
no subject
But the thought of being left behind had stung. Bad. He'd sat with it most of the night, wondering, letting it weigh down on him. He still isn't sure that the worst case scenario he's already talked himself into accepting isn't true. ]
You gonna be straight with me? Or what?
[ He realizes his heart is pounding in his chest. He tries to sit very, very still. ]
You want me outta here?
[ Out of here, out of his face. Just away from him. Isn't that what Jesse had wanted before disappearing? Before running off? ]
no subject
He drops himself into the other chair now, leaning forward to press his face into his hands. Why had he ever thought this would work? Why had he thought it was a good idea? He's never built anything good that he didn't lose or destroy in the end. Everything from selling the box he'd worked on for months in high school shop class just for some weed, to watching Jane and Andrea die. Because of him. Even in his dream, the same thing had happened to Lottie. They'd had everything and then she'd bled out in his arms, killed because of choices he'd made, and Jesse couldn't do a thing to save her.
What had made him think he could build something here, with Daryl? He can't. He's never been able to. ]
...yeah.
[ It's so quiet he barely hears it himself. He sniffles, throat feeling tight. ]
You should get outta here.
Find someone...someone else.
[ Someone good for him. Someone who doesn't fuck up or ruin everything he touches, the way Jesse does. ]
no subject
But he can. He knows it before Jesse says it. Daryl inhales the tiniest bit through his nose when the crack in his heart shatters properly, but that's it. Nothing else shows on his face as he dies a little.
There's a delay where he can't make himself respond and then he stands up with an awkward lurch. The chair scrapes behind him, loud in the empty space. He doesn't move for the door immediately, he just stands there. Looming, unable to look at Jesse. He looks out the window, down at the empty street, the fingers of one hand fidgeting silently. ]
It don't work like that.
[ He's not sure he works at all, not like this, but he knows there's no one else. No one he trusts like this. No one he wants. He doesn't even really understand what Jesse's telling him to do. ]
Not for me.
no subject
This doesn't feel any better, it turns out. Even if he's not sure if this even really is a breakup. He and Daryl had never gotten around to defining their relationship. It's not like dating any girl had ever been.
It's something, though. Something intense, and important, and his whole chest aches when he thinks of Daryl walking out that door. When he thinks of staying here alone in this apartment he'd gotten for the two of them, the one he'd meant - honestly meant - to fix up.
He hadn't fixed it up, though. He's barely managed to hang onto his job, let alone do any work on the side. All he's done is drink and smoke and go to the brothel to get fucked until he can't think anymore. Daryl deserves better than that.
He shakes his head, not understanding any more than Daryl does what the other is trying to say. He'll find someone. Of course he will. He's strong, and brave, and any inexperience he has in bed is far outmatched by his passion and assertiveness. Jesse, though? Jesse's a mess. ]
M'sorry.
[ But it's not a retraction. He's standing by what he'd said. A single tear trails down his cheek and falls, beading on the glossy varnish he'd applied so carefully to the table. Back before he threw everything away again. ]
I'm sorry, Daryl.
no subject
He doesn't see the tear because he can't make himself look at him. He just nods, far too quickly after Jesse says his name, and swallows. The words take a little longer. They're finally pulled up from somewhere simple and vulnerable. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Just flat. Not bitter or angry, just empty. Like he should have known all of this was coming. Should have anticipated and avoided this conversation somehow. But it's too late to save any face. It's as honest as he can be. He's real damn sorry. Scared for Jesse, worried about the state he's in, knowing he's being asked not to care.
He doesn't run. He at least won't let himself do that. He nods again, slower this time, picks up his pack and laboriously lifts it and his poncho over his head to drape across his shoulders. He's stiff from having sat up the whole night. Dwelling on this.
Now that it's happened, he just feels tired. ]
Don't die. [ His worst fear for him. Somehow he feels guilty already. ] Whole thing really hurts.
[ And he just lets himself out, taking his time down the stairs and closing the door at the bottom quietly behind him. Hoping the kid knows enough to at least lock it after him. ]
no subject
But it's too late for that. He sits there, unable to move, unable to speak, his expression crumpling into one of grief and despair. Daryl doesn't even see it. He picks up his things and plods out the door, each footstep echoing in the near-empty apartment. Then the door closes at the bottom of the stairs, the click clearly audible in the silence, and Jesse lets his head drop, a raw, ragged sob dredged up from deep in his chest escaping him. ]