[ He sees that frown, and he knows that Jesse's guessing what's on his mind. She can read him like a book too, and he knows there's not much he can hide from her. Not that he'd try hiding anything from her at this point. She's already guessed that he's still having issues with his identity, with who he is, and with who's left after all the things the Dark Presence has piled on top of him.
But maybe the fact that she still sees Alan Wake when she looks at him means that that person is still there. He still exists, because Jesse can still see him. Maybe everything that makes him who he is hasn't been washed away, not as long as Jesse can still see him and be confident that he's still very much himself.
It's just making himself believe in it too that's the problem. Perhaps he'll get there with time. ]
I don't know. I thought that I did, I thought I knew what I was doing, but do I know anything anymore? I- I think I can reach the surface if...
[ The words trail off because he doesn't think he can ask more of her than he already has. He hasn't even asked; he's demanded, in the form of writing her into the story, of causing her to do things that she might not otherwise have done. Does he have the right to ask more of her now? He doesn't believe he does.
His eyes slide closed for a moment as he feels her touching his hair, moving the sodden strands aside. Something inside him aches as he focuses on the feel of her fingers on his hair, brushing against his face. It's a distant memory, but he remembers falling into her hold because he couldn't hold himself up any longer; he's not at that point, and hopefully he won't be at that point again, but he wants to be held by her just as much as he wants to hold her too.
She's so close now, close enough that she's all he can see. He doesn't need to see anything else when she's around.
She asks a question, and he hears the words and understands them, but he knows he doesn't need words to respond. He has words that he could use, but more and more, he's realizing that he's tired of talking. He's tired of words. Words are all he has, all he knows how to use for the story, and sometimes he feels like he's running out of words.
Instead of words in this moment, he throws them to the winds, and chooses to lean in... slowly at first, but definitely surely, until his face is inches away from hers. His eyes lock onto hers, and an intensity shifts into them, a need to just be with her. To be hers. He doesn't want to be the story's plaything or pawn anymore; for now, he's still trapped by the story and the darkness, but maybe soon, that will come to an end. He just wants to be hers, to be able to love her and be with her with nothing getting in between them.
He feels momentum propelling him forward until his lips find their way to rest against hers, and he leans in, pressing a deep kiss onto her mouth. Words aren't needed in this moment; he just hopes she gets the message, because he's not sure how he can make it any clearer than this. ]
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But maybe the fact that she still sees Alan Wake when she looks at him means that that person is still there. He still exists, because Jesse can still see him. Maybe everything that makes him who he is hasn't been washed away, not as long as Jesse can still see him and be confident that he's still very much himself.
It's just making himself believe in it too that's the problem. Perhaps he'll get there with time. ]
I don't know. I thought that I did, I thought I knew what I was doing, but do I know anything anymore? I- I think I can reach the surface if...
[ The words trail off because he doesn't think he can ask more of her than he already has. He hasn't even asked; he's demanded, in the form of writing her into the story, of causing her to do things that she might not otherwise have done. Does he have the right to ask more of her now? He doesn't believe he does.
His eyes slide closed for a moment as he feels her touching his hair, moving the sodden strands aside. Something inside him aches as he focuses on the feel of her fingers on his hair, brushing against his face. It's a distant memory, but he remembers falling into her hold because he couldn't hold himself up any longer; he's not at that point, and hopefully he won't be at that point again, but he wants to be held by her just as much as he wants to hold her too.
She's so close now, close enough that she's all he can see. He doesn't need to see anything else when she's around.
She asks a question, and he hears the words and understands them, but he knows he doesn't need words to respond. He has words that he could use, but more and more, he's realizing that he's tired of talking. He's tired of words. Words are all he has, all he knows how to use for the story, and sometimes he feels like he's running out of words.
Instead of words in this moment, he throws them to the winds, and chooses to lean in... slowly at first, but definitely surely, until his face is inches away from hers. His eyes lock onto hers, and an intensity shifts into them, a need to just be with her. To be hers. He doesn't want to be the story's plaything or pawn anymore; for now, he's still trapped by the story and the darkness, but maybe soon, that will come to an end. He just wants to be hers, to be able to love her and be with her with nothing getting in between them.
He feels momentum propelling him forward until his lips find their way to rest against hers, and he leans in, pressing a deep kiss onto her mouth. Words aren't needed in this moment; he just hopes she gets the message, because he's not sure how he can make it any clearer than this. ]