like a lifeline thrown, the pill bottle is seized with eagerness and trembling hands only aid the rattle of its contents as he pours a generous collection into his palm. jesse throws them back like a shot, any hesitation or squeamishness surrounding pills with no fluids temporarily extinguished for a greater need. he would be lying if there wasn't a consideration, staring into the open mouth of the bottle, to rinse the rest. to go for a second handful, cupping the tiny tablets like a baby bird, and a third and a fourth and however many it takes. the thought sends a shiver down his spine, leading him to rid himself of the container as quickly as he'd reached for it. he daren't look at it anymore. ❛ yeah. ❜ his agreement for the direness situation is drily delivered, a spark igniting of that rage he experienced earlier. don't you think i know this is fucked, vic ? do you need to rub it in ? he manages to quell it this time, clasping his hands together and cracking his knuckles, forever fidgeting. detachment of his emotions from spreading to his very uninvolved friend, reminding himself of who the real culprits in this web are.
his paranoia matches vic's, on the rise as the substances dissolve into his system, baby blue gaze shifting left and right as if anyone is suspect. and, to some extent, they are. he finds it hard to explain ( or to justify ? ) the symbiotic relationship he and walt share, the innate trust he has in his mentor counter - balanced by doubt all the same. interestingly, he knows walt needs him. for what purpose remains to be seen, but one absolute truth that remains steadfast is that. walt would not kill him. that sets the standard, at least. the bar is on the ground. in the dirt, pushed in by an uncaring heel. ❛ without me, there is no walt. that's— that's just how it is. ❜ as if it were an algebraic formula, no rationale or equation he can use to fully categorise it. a shrug of the shoulders punctuates the silence for a moment, a deep breath taken in as the wave of effects from the pills starts to settle into his bones.
❛ well — you know, now, i guess. 's not exactly . . . somethin' i'm keen to mention at show and tell. ❜ the humour comes out empty, deflated. his posture is wilted, a plant devoid of water. they're a far cry from those days relinquished to jesse's makeshift couch, smoking the worries away, momentarily carefree. onto harder drugs, tougher tensions, the criminal's version of growing up. it feels hard to see a way out, defeat slumping him further into his seat until their shoulders lean unto one another. if he were in better spirits, he might at least be grateful for this small beacon of friendship amidst the turmoil. not that he wants to speak it into existence, but he fears this night of camaraderie might be their last.
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