"Drake..." He pushes himself up on an elbow. "You matter. I care about you." A hopeful little grin, because he knows how intent he looks right now, how intimidating he might be with it. "I've never pity fucked you."
Drake blinks at Jesus, a little baffled at the reiteration since he just said he knows-- oh. His expression softens.
"Good."
Even if it's a struggle to dismiss the thought that pops into his head, unbidden and unwelcome: but did you pity re-sign? It doesn't matter, it's done. What matters is what happens next. Drake reaches up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Jesus' ear, smiling fondly.
That's a dare he'd normally be happy to meet, but... despite the spark of interest in his gaze (because of course he's down, he's always down and apparently even this sort of mood can't negate that) he's cautious about taking Jesus up on it.
"You don't have to prove anything, babe. I swear."
"No?" He studies Drake. Thinks about the finder ad, thinks about the phone turned off in the other room and how Drake hadn't looked up at him when he walked in. "It kind of feels like I should, though. I want to try."
Now it's Drake's turn to look... not quite wounded, because it's his own fault, but distressed and unhappy with himself for making Jesus think he doubts him.
"You feel like you need to prove to me you're not just here out of pity? Still? They hit a nerve, yeah, but that doesn't mean--" he frowns, shaking his head. "No."
He looks at him a moment, then looks down, nodding slightly. "I think they hit a nerve for me, too. I don't ever want you thinking I'm here for any reason except that I want to be."
"We're not gonna buy into their shit," Drake says firmly, his gaze locked with Jesus' brighter blue one. "So they went for a weak spot, everybody's got 'em. It landing doesn't have to take us out. I know why you're here. You don't need to keep proving you care when everything you do does already. Okay? I don't need to fuck you to believe it, and we're not letting them pull the strings like that. It's just an ad. It hit, but that's not on you."
"Hey, knowing something doesn't always mean you always feel it. It's been what, three months? Four?" He lets his fingers slide back, sinking into Jesus' hair to cradle his head. "I'm not the only one of us who worries, cut me some slack."
"Sure, likes, mostly just 'cuz he knows I'll give him snacks." It's a weak joke, with a point underneath it that he doesn't know if Jesus will catch. There's a reason for it that's tied to what he can do. A worth that serves him in an obvious way. Yes, Nibbles is a cat, but that concept has applied to most people, his whole life.
So sure, he's mattered to people. But love, that he knew and felt? Those people aren't with him now, and it's hard. Jesus says he cares all the time, and Drake can feel that. But that isn't what he was asked.
He doesn't really want to say any of that out loud.
"I dunno who or how you're counting," is what he settles on, soft and noncommittal.
To his credit, Drake is quiet for a moment while he thinks on it. Really thinks on it. He still wouldn't say 'a lot' but he can expand the list if they change the criteria to people he matters to.
"Well... for friends here, there's you. Padme, Val, Harley..." aaaaand he's stalled out again, wracking his brain.
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"Seems like it got to you a little."
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"Good."
Even if it's a struggle to dismiss the thought that pops into his head, unbidden and unwelcome: but did you pity re-sign? It doesn't matter, it's done. What matters is what happens next. Drake reaches up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Jesus' ear, smiling fondly.
"And we promised, yeah?"
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"You don't have to prove anything, babe. I swear."
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"You feel like you need to prove to me you're not just here out of pity? Still? They hit a nerve, yeah, but that doesn't mean--" he frowns, shaking his head. "No."
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"How many times have you felt loved in your life?"
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His mother loved him, not that it was healthy. Lup, platonically. And Ephemera. He can feel himself tensing up and smiles to try and break it.
"And one dog, Sable counts."
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So sure, he's mattered to people. But love, that he knew and felt? Those people aren't with him now, and it's hard. Jesus says he cares all the time, and Drake can feel that. But that isn't what he was asked.
He doesn't really want to say any of that out loud.
"I dunno who or how you're counting," is what he settles on, soft and noncommittal.
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"Well... for friends here, there's you. Padme, Val, Harley..." aaaaand he's stalled out again, wracking his brain.
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