we whisper in each others' ears to make diamonds out of dirt.

[nightmarist]

Who: Ronan Lynch & Jesse Pinkman
When: Shortly after this
Where: A hallway in the Moira
What: Jesse runs into Ronan after a fight.
Warnings: Blood and references to violence.

[Smudged with dirt and soot. Shirt torn and slightly charred. Drying blood smeared across his mouth. Fresh bruise erupting on his cheek. Frankly, Ronan looks like a mess. Not the life-threatening kind of mess, but very much like a boy who's just emerged from a brutal fight with someone of comparable strength, and it's not entirely clear from the looks of him whether he won or lost that fight.

In the end, it doesn't matter. He's sore and concussive and there's a burn on his hip where Kavinsky's literally-flaming fingers wrenched at his jeans. There's no emerging from that fight with any sense of victory. Ronan wants to find the nearest empty room and isolate himself there, away from all questions and concerns.

He thinks he might throw up. He hopes that doesn't happen in this hall. He wishes everything would stop spinning.

And now he's falling.]

Comments

[heisenbitch]

[ That sure snaps Jesse out of his momentary reverie. He jerks back with a surprised jolt when it hits his forehead, eyes landing on the joint falling on the floor before shooting Ronan a look. ]

What the hell, yo.

[nightmarist]

Watch your fucking language.

[heisenbitch]

Seriously?

[ ...And then, it suddenly dawns on Jesse: Ronan's a faggot, too. Jesse had already wondered if that was the case with how Ronan was talking earlier about this Kavinsky guy wanting him, but Ronan's reaction confirms that for him. Why else would Ronan care so much?

Quick. Backpeddle, Pinkman. Ronan might be bruised and battered and burned but that doesn't mean Ronan won't punch his face in. ]

I was talking about this Kavinsky guy or whatever, yo, not you.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan holds Jesse with his stare, dissecting the dawning realization in Jesse's features as his brain works through what Ronan always assumed was the extremely obvious. He says nothing. No dismissal, no forgiveness. He just wants Jesse to squirm with it a bit longer.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse is squirming alright. He holds that dangerous stare of Ronan's like he's trying not to be intimidated, but somehow, Ronan manages to look even more intimidating with his face all busted in.

Intimidation wins over. Jesse breaks eye contact, looking down with a brief, uneasy jiggle of his leg. He reaches down to pluck the joint up from the floor, then he looks back up to Ronan and holds the joint out for him to take back. A wordless gesture of contrition. Look, he's sorry, okay? Please don't kill him. ]

[nightmarist]

[Ronan accepts the joint, bringing it to his lips for another hit. Nothing about the gesture appears merciful, but at the very least he doesn't seem to be making a move to attack.]

Curbstomping seemed a little redundant after he died. There's not really anything satisfying about kicking a corpse's ass.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse slumps back in his seat with begrudging concession. That begrudging attitude quickly subdues as Ronan going on to comment about curbstomping brings Jesse's thoughts back to this Kavinsky guy kidnapping and apparently trying to murder Ronan's younger brother. Not to mention the fact that this kid apparently killed himself. ]

There a reason he's got such a Fatal Attraction hard-on for you?

[nightmarist]

[Sarcastically, with a gesture toward his swollen face:]

Is this not a beauty worth killing for?

[More seriously:]

You'd have to ask him.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse lets out a wry snort under his breath at Ronan's gesture to his busted up face. He looks down, tapping ash into the soda can again. ]

Heh. Yeah. Right. Just walk up to him and be all, "Hey, dickweed, you realise there're easier ways to get cock than kidnapping kids, right?"

[ He takes a contemplative final drag of his cigarette before slipping the butt into the can. ]

Guess some people jerk off to making other people's lives miserable 'cause they're such miserable assholes themselves. It's like they feed off of it or something.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan doesn't dispute that. Even if he'd been inclined to accept Kavinsky's little proposal and give up his life with Gansey and Adam and Noah, it would only have been a matter of time before he ended up like Prokopenko. Kavinsky would have grown tired of him and replaced him. Goldfish. Mitsubishis in a field.

He shuts his eyes. Even through the haze of weed, his head throbs. His whole body aches.]

...You should stay away from him.

[heisenbitch]

[ Not that Jesse can hold any moral high ground to that little nugget of so-called wisdom about people jerking off to other people's misery, because he's done nothing but brought misery to everyone who's wound up with the misfortune of getting too close to him. Mr. White flashes into his mind. Jesse can vaguely remember thinking - vaguely because it's been so long since he's seen Mr. White that his life back in New Mexico seems almost like a distant memory now - how much he would despise Mr. White at times because of how much he jerked off at making Jesse miserable.

And suddenly, right at that moment, a stab of guilt twists into his gut. Mr. White was miserable because of Jesse, really. It wasn't Mr. White who was the sick one - it was Jesse.

He sets the makeshift soda can ashtray down on the floor beside him, then drops his face into his hands, rubbing his hands wearily down it, before letting them fall away. He glumly slouches forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

He glances up at Ronan remark. Which, despite that stab of guilt still churning over in his chest, takes Jesse by surprise. Why would Ronan give a shit enough to even advise him of that? ]

I'm nobody. Doubt he's gonna give two shits about me.

[ Watching Ronan lie there with his eyes closed. His face looks as badly busted up as Jesse's had looked when he'd first wound up in this place. That Schrader asswipe had done a real number on him; Jesse remembers how badly he'd been aching. ]

...Need another joint or something?

[nightmarist]

I'll fall asleep if I smoke any more.

[Which, on the one hand, might be good for the healing process. On the other hand, it might be the very opposite of good for the healing process. He's losing control of himself, exactly like Kavinsky wants.

Ronan opens his eyes.]

I might fall asleep anyway. I should probably get out of here before I do.

[heisenbitch]

[ ...Yeah. That's fair enough. Jesse's roommate might come back at any second, too. This would be a bad place for Ronan to fall asleep. ]

Where d'you wanna go?

[nightmarist]

Is there a janitor's closet or something..?

[That's not a joke. He's asking in complete seriousness.]

[heisenbitch]

No. I store all my janitor shit in the shower.

[ Of course there's a janitor closet, yo. And luckily for Ronan, Jesse knows exactly where that is.

He gets up from the chair and steps over Ronan. He reaches for the wash cloths, both the blood- and soot-soiled one and the one laid over Ronan's burn. ]

There's a janitor closet just down the hall.

[nightmarist]

[Once Jesse's got the wash cloths, Ronan quickly tugs his shirt down to cover his reddened skin. One leg is still hanging off the edge of the bed, foot planted on the floor, and that gives him some leverage as he begins to sit up. Weed isn't nearly as effective as he wishes it was, and he winces with pain.]

Down the hall. Okay. That's good.

[heisenbitch]

[ The goddamn swinging bed isn't going to help matters, either. But once the wash cloths land in the bucket with a splash, Jesse is grabbing hold of Ronan's arm to loop it around his shoulders.

What a fucking struggle. Jesse tries his hardest, though, to take all of Ronan's broad, tall weight, grimacing with exertion to get Ronan steady on his feet while trying to avoid causing Ronan to bash his head on the other swinging bunk right above him. It probably looks almost comical, if anyone were watching them. ]

[nightmarist]

[Yeah, this is the problem with being extremely tall and dealing with a bunk bed. But Ronan, despite being completely stoned, has better coordination than earlier, when he was fresh out of getting his skull bashed into the ground by Kavinsky. He manages to avoid bumping his head on the bunk, and he's doing a better job of holding his own weight with his legs.]