Webcam Woes | A Drabble for Jackson
Danny stared blankly at the screen in front of him. He had two separate applications running on his mac book. One was an empty word document (spare his header at the top -- his name and the date), the other was his open contacts list on Skype. More specifically, it was his empty conversation with Jackson Whittemore.
It had been four days since the incident. Four days since Danny had spit daggers at him. Four days since Danny had been a total fucking dick. He continued to chew at his lower lip, doting like some hopeful puppy as he stared across their empty conversation. He didn't know why he expected Jackson to message him. To call him. To text him. To check back in at any point to make sure everything was okay. They hadn't spoken since that day. Though the more realistic part of his mind knew why. Jackson wasn't talking to him and he likely wasn't going to. Danny deserved. He deserved every bit of it.
He quite literally planted his forehead in against his desk, sighing heavily. He needed to do something. He needed to make this right. He needed Jackson back.
With a clenched jaw, he lifted his head and minimized the word document. His essay could wait. Swiping his digit along the touchpad, he brought his cursor to linger along the green 'Call' button next to Jackson's name. He was hesitating. What was he going to say? What if Jackson answered? What if he didn't? He couldn't just pretend like nothing happened.
Against his better judgement due to his lack of having anything rightly prepared, he clicked the button. In response, there were several frilly rings as Skype attempted to contact the user on the other end. His webcam clicked on, the green light next to its lens signaling it having been powered on. In a small box at the bottom corner of his screen Danny saw himself. Tired. Sad. Lonely.
He pressed his lips inward, turning his gaze away for a moment. Another click was heard, pulling his stare back toward the screen. Jackson hadn't answered. He sighed, obliging the prompt Skype had offered. The numbers began ticking, indicating that he was indeed leaving a video message.
Danny didn't speak for a few long moments, not quite being able to bring himself to lift his gaze. It wasn't as though Jackson was actually there, and that -- surprisingly enough, made it harder. Though this was what was right. The moment his mind processed that reality, his gaze lifted and he forced a weak smile in the way of the camera.
"Hey.." Danny whispered softly, silence settling in once again. He lifted a palm, bringing it to his features as his nerves were seeming to abandon him, replaced by raw emotion. His hand swept up one side of his face, threading through the short messy waves of his hair. He rested his features in against it there, elbow sustained by its bent position being propped upon his desk. Another heavy sigh fell from him.
"I'm sorry," he muttered softly at first, before pulling his hand away and sitting there plainly. Though he was still having trouble lifting his stare out of his mixed feelings of shame and guilt. "I'm really sorry, Jackson." He shook his head from left to right. "I don't know what I was thinking." His stare was blank, gazing down at his hands in his lap. He chuckled softly, though it certainly wasn't any show of enthusiasm. "I guess I wasn't." He spoke with a measure of defeat.
"I just.." He shook his head once more lifting his stare back toward the lens. "I love you, Jackson." His jaw clenched, chewing in upon his inner cheeks. It was the hardest thing, not looking away for several long seconds after he spoke it.. but he didn't.
"I love you, and I'm sorry that I hurt you. And I miss you. And I'm lonely." He was struggling. "You're my best friend, and whatever I gotta do to get you to forgive me, I'll do it." He pressed his lips inward. Danny was a sensitive guy. He was an emotional guy. If that wasn't evident before, it would have been by the swelling of tears within his eyes.
"Just forgive me." He pleaded softly. "Just come back, Jackson." He forced a smile once more, this time it was easier to stare there into the lens, knowing that his best friend was going to be on the other end.
On a more light-hearted note, Danny smirked. "I won't hurt you again." He was trying to reason with the boy, lifting a palm and extending a pink out toward the cam. "Pinky swear." It was dorkish and it was silly, but it was definitely very 'Danny'. He smirked at his own goofy gesture.
With a heavy shrug of his shoulders, he sat back in his char. "I'm in Washington Hall. Room 415." He smiled. "If you wanna stop by," Danny licked at his lips nervously, "I'll be here." He nodded. "All night."
He paused for a moment, before adding a soft, "Please come."
With that, he lifted a palm and with a flick of his wrist waved goodbye before clicking off the message recording.
Another bloop was heard, a popup box there prompted by Skype:
Are you sure you want to send this Video Message to Jackson Whittemore?
Without hesitation this time, Danny's cursor moved over one of the two options offered.
