Maybe... maybe I would have just thought you were a little eccentric, but not crazy. I'm sure people have called me that too, and that's probably one of the more flattering things they could say about me. Or maybe I'm just giving into wishful thinking because I want to believe that I would have liked you even then. [ Liked? What about loved? It's hard for me to imagine not caring about her that way after all of this.
Her smile and the way her eyes light up warms him. It's cold beneath the waves, but when she's smiling at him like that, he doesn't feel it anymore. When she looks at him in that way, he almost feels as though he could come home. He could leave this place behind and put the nightmare behind him. The memories would still be there, but so would she.
His eyes remain closed as her thumbs brush against his beard. Why does he like her touch so much? He can't point to just one thing; all he knows is that her touch calms him even when everything inside him is a raging storm. Or, well, maybe a storm of panic and worry is more accurate. He is worried and stressed, and if he stops to think about it, he worries about the safety of everyone who's been dragged into this story. At the top of that list is Jesse, of course. She's already been murdered once, and that still feels like his fault.
Just thinking about it makes him feel sick.
If he can't die, then she can't either. Not again. Never again if he has anything to say about it. ]
They don't suit either of us, do they? [ Somehow, he manages to make that pun, even as he navigates the nervous storm that's inside him. ] But it's not hard for me to imagine you looking good in anything, even a suit. Honestly, though, I like the way you look right now. [ He likes the way her hair falls to frame her face. It makes him want to reach out and touch it like he's done before.
But then she's kissing him once more and tugging at the edge of his coat as if beckoning him to follow. He does without hesitation, stopping only when she approaches the chalkboard. There, he hesitates, watching her nervously as she takes in the side of the board that's covered in pictures and notes. So many notes. So much writing.
In between the notes and the pictures, wherever there's space, she might notice a five letter word written there. Not a word, a name. Her name. It's all over the board, and sometimes it looks as though the hand that wrote it was shaking, based on the unevenness of the letters.
Alan's gaze shifts away; he's not drifting or spiraling, but he doesn't want to watch as she looks over the board. Why? It's like it's giving her a look into his mind. She's seen that already, of course: seen how his thoughts run away from him, chasing each other in circles. She's seen the fears, the anxieties, the paranoia. But all of that is on display in some shape or form in the notes that he's written to try and outline the story.
It's very personal, and somehow, as silly as it sounds, he never imagined anyone would see it but him. His gaze remains lowered even as she reaches for his hand; he takes hers readily, fingers wrapping around it as if he's holding onto a lifeline. He is, isn't he? ]
No, I- Not yet. I don't really know why. [ Is it because I don't want to think about how many drafts I'll have to go through? Maybe. I don't know.
His eyes shift then to see what she's looking at, and when he realizes she's seen the note with his scrawled words about his promise to her and the admonition to not forget that promise, he looks down again, missing her own gaze by just seconds.
What will she think about me having to remind myself with a note? I should just remember what I promised without needing a reminder.
His gaze is turned down to stare at the floor, and his shoulders seem to have slumped an inch or two as if a weight is pressing him down.
That promise means everything to me. Keeping it IS everything to me. I always want us in the story: us finding each other, being together, loving each other. I wish that I could be confident there'd never be any risk to her, but I can't. That risk will never go away. But I have to tell her. I can't just assume she knows how I feel about keeping my promise.
With his eyes still turned down and looking at the floor, he says her name, his tone questioning but betraying his nervousness too. ]
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Her smile and the way her eyes light up warms him. It's cold beneath the waves, but when she's smiling at him like that, he doesn't feel it anymore. When she looks at him in that way, he almost feels as though he could come home. He could leave this place behind and put the nightmare behind him. The memories would still be there, but so would she.
His eyes remain closed as her thumbs brush against his beard. Why does he like her touch so much? He can't point to just one thing; all he knows is that her touch calms him even when everything inside him is a raging storm. Or, well, maybe a storm of panic and worry is more accurate. He is worried and stressed, and if he stops to think about it, he worries about the safety of everyone who's been dragged into this story. At the top of that list is Jesse, of course. She's already been murdered once, and that still feels like his fault.
Just thinking about it makes him feel sick.
If he can't die, then she can't either. Not again. Never again if he has anything to say about it. ]
They don't suit either of us, do they? [ Somehow, he manages to make that pun, even as he navigates the nervous storm that's inside him. ] But it's not hard for me to imagine you looking good in anything, even a suit. Honestly, though, I like the way you look right now. [ He likes the way her hair falls to frame her face. It makes him want to reach out and touch it like he's done before.
But then she's kissing him once more and tugging at the edge of his coat as if beckoning him to follow. He does without hesitation, stopping only when she approaches the chalkboard. There, he hesitates, watching her nervously as she takes in the side of the board that's covered in pictures and notes. So many notes. So much writing.
In between the notes and the pictures, wherever there's space, she might notice a five letter word written there. Not a word, a name. Her name. It's all over the board, and sometimes it looks as though the hand that wrote it was shaking, based on the unevenness of the letters.
Alan's gaze shifts away; he's not drifting or spiraling, but he doesn't want to watch as she looks over the board. Why? It's like it's giving her a look into his mind. She's seen that already, of course: seen how his thoughts run away from him, chasing each other in circles. She's seen the fears, the anxieties, the paranoia. But all of that is on display in some shape or form in the notes that he's written to try and outline the story.
It's very personal, and somehow, as silly as it sounds, he never imagined anyone would see it but him. His gaze remains lowered even as she reaches for his hand; he takes hers readily, fingers wrapping around it as if he's holding onto a lifeline. He is, isn't he? ]
No, I- Not yet. I don't really know why. [ Is it because I don't want to think about how many drafts I'll have to go through? Maybe. I don't know.
His eyes shift then to see what she's looking at, and when he realizes she's seen the note with his scrawled words about his promise to her and the admonition to not forget that promise, he looks down again, missing her own gaze by just seconds.
What will she think about me having to remind myself with a note? I should just remember what I promised without needing a reminder.
His gaze is turned down to stare at the floor, and his shoulders seem to have slumped an inch or two as if a weight is pressing him down.
That promise means everything to me. Keeping it IS everything to me. I always want us in the story: us finding each other, being together, loving each other. I wish that I could be confident there'd never be any risk to her, but I can't. That risk will never go away. But I have to tell her. I can't just assume she knows how I feel about keeping my promise.
With his eyes still turned down and looking at the floor, he says her name, his tone questioning but betraying his nervousness too. ]
... Jesse?