[ Alan isn't nearly as confident or resolute. He feels like he's drifting. Floating sometimes. Sinking other times. Drowning, when things get really bad. And they've been pretty bad for what feels like a long time now. Time in the Dark Place is in flux. Always changing. It's never definite, except for how it's always dark. The darkness is suffocating. Choking. So thick it could strangle a person.
He'd much rather talk about peaches and make jokes about feeling peachy than let her see what he's become, what the Dark Place has turned him into. But to hide that from her would be hiding the truth, and he's resolved to not do that, not if he can help it. She needs to see him as he is, to see the good parts and the bad. And maybe the bad outweighs the good. It certainly feels that way when his sanity slips and he pushes the typewriter off the desk and screams.
That typewriter always comes back, no matter how many times he picks it up and throws it across the room.
Now, he simply sits and waits. Waits for her to pull away from him, to move his hands away from her: hands that he's forgotten are covered in blood, dirt, and who knows what else. She's leaning into his touch, and her hand is touching his. But she'll pull away soon, he thinks. She's seen the damage that's been done to him, heard him relate it in his own words. It's surely too much for anyone, even too much for her, who's seen and lived through so much.
His head lowers and a shaky breath escapes him as he waits.
"Maybe I'm just too peachy after all."
Alan's head lifts when he hears Jesse say those words, and he looks up just in time to see her smiling at him. Her smile softens her face and brightens her eyes. He's seen it happen before, but it feels like he's seeing it now for the first time in years. The hand that she's touching trembles in response to her fingers sliding between each knuckle. This moment is important. It feels like the beginning of a chapter, but a chapter they've read before. A scene they've acted out before. But it's not acting when they really mean everything they're doing. It's a return, of sorts. A rediscovery. A rediscovery of each other.
She says his name, and he looks at her, gray eyes sliding to meet with hers. She leans forward and he feels himself doing the same, her magnetism drawing him in, in spite of his lingering fears. It's not her he's afraid of. He couldn't be afraid of her, not now. Not when they've shared so much.
But he freezes, mind briefly going blank as everything but the words she's just said fades away.
...thank you. For... this-- for us.
Then Alan's eyes cloud over and a memory surfaces, briefly taking him away from this moment, from Jesse. Frown lines appear around his mouth and eyes as he remembers some things that happened and some that his mind has taken and twisted into an artificial recollection of what really happened.
"Did you write my family into this story? Fix it, you son of a- You asshole. You will fix it. My daughter. My husband. How dare you write them into your twisted hellhole of a story? You selfish asshole."
More echoes reverberate around the chambers of Alan's mind.
"If you won't put him down, let us out and we'll put a bullet between his eyes. We'll end both him and this nightmare in one shot. It should have been done a long time ago. Rotten, useless, arrogant writer. This world's better off without him in it."
Another echo sounds then, louder than the last two that made Alan feel like he was sinking again, the waves sweeping over his head, pulling him down into a dark embrace.
"Alan, thank you for this. For us. Again." It's Jesse's voice. Sounding grateful. Warm. Kind, to Alan's ears. And dare he hope for it, full of love. For him. The harsh voices with their cruel words fade away, and all that's left are the echoes of Jesse's words of thanks. He wants to hold onto those words forever. There's more power contained in those simple words than anything the Dark Presence or even his own mind could throw at him. And a lot of words have been thrown his way; but Jesse's words overpower all of them.
As the fog recedes from his eyes, he doesn't speak because he doesn't trust his own voice to not betray the depths of fear and love and wonder that he's feeling because of the gift that Jesse's just given him. He slowly, very slowly leans forward until his forehead is pressed lightly against hers. It's a familiar gesture, and a familiar posture to be in. They've done it before. He doesn't know how many times, but he knows it's something they've done.
He just wants to stay like this for a little while, because with her here, the darkness both outside (as the sun has set) and inside Alan's own mind doesn't trouble him as much. He can breathe a little easier knowing that she's here, loving him, but more importantly, safe. As safe as anyone can be when safety isn't ever a guarantee. ]
no subject
He'd much rather talk about peaches and make jokes about feeling peachy than let her see what he's become, what the Dark Place has turned him into. But to hide that from her would be hiding the truth, and he's resolved to not do that, not if he can help it. She needs to see him as he is, to see the good parts and the bad. And maybe the bad outweighs the good. It certainly feels that way when his sanity slips and he pushes the typewriter off the desk and screams.
That typewriter always comes back, no matter how many times he picks it up and throws it across the room.
Now, he simply sits and waits. Waits for her to pull away from him, to move his hands away from her: hands that he's forgotten are covered in blood, dirt, and who knows what else. She's leaning into his touch, and her hand is touching his. But she'll pull away soon, he thinks. She's seen the damage that's been done to him, heard him relate it in his own words. It's surely too much for anyone, even too much for her, who's seen and lived through so much.
His head lowers and a shaky breath escapes him as he waits.
"Maybe I'm just too peachy after all."
Alan's head lifts when he hears Jesse say those words, and he looks up just in time to see her smiling at him. Her smile softens her face and brightens her eyes. He's seen it happen before, but it feels like he's seeing it now for the first time in years. The hand that she's touching trembles in response to her fingers sliding between each knuckle. This moment is important. It feels like the beginning of a chapter, but a chapter they've read before. A scene they've acted out before. But it's not acting when they really mean everything they're doing. It's a return, of sorts. A rediscovery. A rediscovery of each other.
She says his name, and he looks at her, gray eyes sliding to meet with hers. She leans forward and he feels himself doing the same, her magnetism drawing him in, in spite of his lingering fears. It's not her he's afraid of. He couldn't be afraid of her, not now. Not when they've shared so much.
But he freezes, mind briefly going blank as everything but the words she's just said fades away.
...thank you. For... this-- for us.
Then Alan's eyes cloud over and a memory surfaces, briefly taking him away from this moment, from Jesse. Frown lines appear around his mouth and eyes as he remembers some things that happened and some that his mind has taken and twisted into an artificial recollection of what really happened.
"Did you write my family into this story? Fix it, you son of a- You asshole. You will fix it. My daughter. My husband. How dare you write them into your twisted hellhole of a story? You selfish asshole."
More echoes reverberate around the chambers of Alan's mind.
"If you won't put him down, let us out and we'll put a bullet between his eyes. We'll end both him and this nightmare in one shot. It should have been done a long time ago. Rotten, useless, arrogant writer. This world's better off without him in it."
Another echo sounds then, louder than the last two that made Alan feel like he was sinking again, the waves sweeping over his head, pulling him down into a dark embrace.
"Alan, thank you for this. For us. Again." It's Jesse's voice. Sounding grateful. Warm. Kind, to Alan's ears. And dare he hope for it, full of love. For him. The harsh voices with their cruel words fade away, and all that's left are the echoes of Jesse's words of thanks. He wants to hold onto those words forever. There's more power contained in those simple words than anything the Dark Presence or even his own mind could throw at him. And a lot of words have been thrown his way; but Jesse's words overpower all of them.
As the fog recedes from his eyes, he doesn't speak because he doesn't trust his own voice to not betray the depths of fear and love and wonder that he's feeling because of the gift that Jesse's just given him. He slowly, very slowly leans forward until his forehead is pressed lightly against hers. It's a familiar gesture, and a familiar posture to be in. They've done it before. He doesn't know how many times, but he knows it's something they've done.
He just wants to stay like this for a little while, because with her here, the darkness both outside (as the sun has set) and inside Alan's own mind doesn't trouble him as much. He can breathe a little easier knowing that she's here, loving him, but more importantly, safe. As safe as anyone can be when safety isn't ever a guarantee. ]