@vis0ractivated //feel free to ignore I just have feelings.
Like most nights, he faded in and out of consciousness staring at the hollow thing that used to be a lover. He'd near given up in his renewed advances-- either being too strong or seemingly pushed aside. Any heart could only take so much.
He was so close, so close, to Jack. It amazed him. He'd spent so many lonely nights wishing for this, telling himself that'd be enough, that it'd be bearable. But this was somehow worse. Had he stretched out his arm, he could grasp even a fold in the other's sleeping bag. But that wouldn't be enough either.
But he didn't. He wouldn't. It wouldn't end well. This man insisted Jack was dead. That he was a memory, a lingering will. But even still this was all Jesse had left. And it hurt like a deep ache, a physical weight on his very soul, to not even be able to truly touch him.
He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care he'd probably have a bullet through his chest before his arms could wrap around his former lover. He had to hold him in his arms just this last time, had to feel the revulsion, the unfamiliarity-- had to know it was true.
He was clumsy, as desperate men always are, wriggling out of his own bag before all but launching himself at Jack. His arms hit the ground, padded a little by the other's sleeping bag, but not much. His weight on Jack as it was, he was forced to settle on clinging to the other's sides through the sleeping bag.
It was only as he suddered with a sob that he realized he was crying. But he didn't try to stop. He pressed himself as close to the other as he could. He cried and shuddered and begged. His pleas were a slur of half formed sentences, but the message was clear enough.
But if the other could be believed, he was. Jack was gone. Gabriel was gone. Everything, everything was gone. The security he felt entangled with them. The joy. The warmth. The passion. The love. Gone. How wreched a thing to feel. How empty, how lonely, how sad.
And all he could do was cry. Cry to a man that wouldn't care. Cry to a man that would probably kill him in a moment. And all the better. If Jack was dead, if Gabriel was dead, if all this world had left for him was pain and emptiness then, sure-- why not? Let this ghost end him. Let this remnant finally kill the past it resisted. Let it all finally die.
