[ A laugh bubbles out of Jesse. There's no humour to it; it's a bleak, caustic little laugh, with something unhinged lurking just beneath the surface. The tears Andyr is wiping away so gently from Jesse's cheeks are immediately chased by two more tears slipping down from his eyes.

Why is Andyr doing this? Back on the streets the other night, when Andyr had dragged his junkie ass out of that club, spat at Jesse that his head was up his ass, no sympathy or kindness or gentleness - Jesse had taken it because he deserved it. He'd hated it but he deserved it. Being treated like a giant piece of shit was easier to take than this.

His hand still entwined with Andyr's squeezes tight, though. Like the weak ass little bitch he is, affection and tenderness have always been Jesse's weak spots. He has always craved affection and tenderness in ways that borders on downright pathetic and desperate. Indignant anger is simmering away at him that Andyr would just dismiss the terrible thing Jesse has done, but all Jesse really wants is to roll onto his side towards Andyr and bury himself in whatever tenderness and affection Andyr is willing to give him. ]

Tell you, and then what? You'll tell me it doesn't matter? That it's okay? 'Cause deep down, I'm a good guy or some bullshit?

[ Jesse's words are choked, venomous, devastated, thick and raspy with anger and tears, all at once. ]