[ Jesse vaguely registers, through his distress, that Andyr has tensed up. He's half expecting to be shoved away. Affection is something Andyr reserves for Ronan, for Adam; it's not something Jesse has ever sought from him or asked of him, and Jesse has always been acutely aware of how important Andyr's personal space is. And why wouldn't it be? Jesse doesn't even know a fraction of the things Andyr has endured, but he knows and has witnessed more than enough to understand why invading Andyr's personal space can be perceived as a violation.
But then Andyr's arms are finally folding around Jesse instead. The hand rubbing up and down his back, the other hand cradling Jesse's head... A renewed surge of sobs shake out of him, and Jesse sinks into Andyr's touch and embrace, seeming to try and hide even close against him, like a guy who's utterly starved of affection. Those words Andyr murmurs to him, how gentle he's being - it reminds Jesse of the way Mr. White had let Jesse fall against him into his arms in that filthy, disgusting meth den Jesse had wound up in after Jane died. How Jesse had sobbed while Mr. White had held him close, exactly like this - an arm around him, Mr. White's hand cradling Jesse's head to his chest. In that moment, despite everything, Jesse had felt loved and cherished, even though he hadn't deserved it.
Jesse can't say or do anything for the longest while. His arm slides up underneath Andyr's, winding around to his back, his fingers fisting a tuft of Andyr's shirt in his hand while he clings desperately onto him. All he does is cry against Andyr's chest, sobbing and sobbing, until his sobs begin to wane simply from exhaustion. They slowly dissolve into whimpers, then hitching breath while tears still fall from his eyes, soaking Andyr's shirt. Finally, Jesse falls silent. Huddled in Andyr's arms, still, quiet, utterly hollowed out and drained.
Eventually, Jesse says against Andyr's chest, his voice thick and tired and lifeless from crying: ]
no subject
But then Andyr's arms are finally folding around Jesse instead. The hand rubbing up and down his back, the other hand cradling Jesse's head... A renewed surge of sobs shake out of him, and Jesse sinks into Andyr's touch and embrace, seeming to try and hide even close against him, like a guy who's utterly starved of affection. Those words Andyr murmurs to him, how gentle he's being - it reminds Jesse of the way Mr. White had let Jesse fall against him into his arms in that filthy, disgusting meth den Jesse had wound up in after Jane died. How Jesse had sobbed while Mr. White had held him close, exactly like this - an arm around him, Mr. White's hand cradling Jesse's head to his chest. In that moment, despite everything, Jesse had felt loved and cherished, even though he hadn't deserved it.
Jesse can't say or do anything for the longest while. His arm slides up underneath Andyr's, winding around to his back, his fingers fisting a tuft of Andyr's shirt in his hand while he clings desperately onto him. All he does is cry against Andyr's chest, sobbing and sobbing, until his sobs begin to wane simply from exhaustion. They slowly dissolve into whimpers, then hitching breath while tears still fall from his eyes, soaking Andyr's shirt. Finally, Jesse falls silent. Huddled in Andyr's arms, still, quiet, utterly hollowed out and drained.
Eventually, Jesse says against Andyr's chest, his voice thick and tired and lifeless from crying: ]
Think I got what I deserved, anyway.