"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.
"That... really hasn't been my experience here," Drake says carefully. They've talked about this before. How much of a struggle it's been to find people who trusted him.
"Maybe. Objectively, I guess? Since the issue's usually that they say I'm faking, I must be up to something. But I've spent enough time pretending to be whichever 'somebody else' was needed that day. I'm not gonna do it anymore. I can't. And you can't prove the absence of something, and you can't make somebody trust you... so if I only ever have a few friends at least they're actually mine."
Drake feels tired all of a sudden, in a way that even the stress of the conversation a minute before hadn't left him. The kind of tired that comes with hopelessness, because he just hasn't figured out why people think he's up to no good. So long pretending he was, maybe? The truth being the opposite is some kind of sick irony.
"You're lucky, you know? You've got a kind face. Pretty eyes. There's no dissonance to it, people just like you. I only ever survived by fading into the background. Safer if I don't matter."
Edited (the typos duke the typos...) 2023-02-13 17:07 (UTC)
It's true that he's never had a hard time getting people to trust him. He hates that it's been so hard for Drake, after everything he's done to show himself worthy of other people's faith.
"I trusted you the minute you bought me chicken," he says, with a gentle smile.
There's a moment where Drake just blinks at Jesus, trying to figure out if that was a joke to lighten the mood or not... and he genuinely can't tell, but it does work. He huffs softly, using the hand he's got in Jesus' hair to give his head a scolding little shake.
"Please tell me that's not all there was to it. Much as I love how much you wanna believe in people, that's too easy."
He chuckles, hesitates. "When I was on the road, before I found the Hilltop, I ran across a man who had holed up in a cabin. We shared a tin of ravioli--real Chef Boyardee. I hadn't had that in at least a year, maybe two. It was probably going bad but at the time, I didn't care, it tasted so good, just like I remembered. Then he tried to kill me."
He looks at Drake. "I knew you wouldn't. Trust is a choice; I decided to trust you and you've rewarded me for it every day since."
That story is exactly the kind of thing Drake is worried about, his expression going from wary as Jesus is telling it to 'see what I mean?' at the end... he knows what it's like to be starving, how much it means when someone saves your life by sharing a limited resource. In his case that was actually a friend willing to sacrifice themselves for him, twice. He does get how easy it could be to blindly trust in that kind of gesture. But Jesus is too smart for the story to end there, so... Drake waits.
Oh.
So much for lightening the mood.
He doesn't even know what to say to that, what response could possibly stand up to the emotion swelling in his chest. In the end he doesn't say anything at all, just smiles quietly and leans in to kiss Jesus again. Softer and slower and sweeter than the ones Jesus has initiated since showing up here.
"Hey, you're the one who said it was the chicken," Drake points out, smiling against Jesus' lips. This time he obviously has no intention of pulling back or pushing Jesus away, but his tone does sober a little. "I know you're smarter than that."
"The chicken was really good," he teases, lips still brushing Drake's.
He hasn't had to kill anyone here. Not yet, maybe not ever--and that maybe is what lets him reach out to people as freely as he does. He still goes out armed. He always will. But he's able to risk himself in ways he never was able to back home, even before the fall; he can feel it happening.
The kiss muffles a far more genuine laugh, one that tapers off as it drags on and Drake pulls Jesus in tighter against him. It seems silly now that the finder had gotten to him at all, let alone so much, enough that he'd needed reassurance in the first place. But it was both of them, right? Jesus had come by because he was worried too... sometimes Drake is very aware they haven't known each other long enough for these things to roll off, and the rest is more like this moment. Where it feels like they could get through anything.
"Thank you," he whispers between kisses. For making that choice in the first place. For staying. For coming by today. For dozens of things, big and small, probably some Jesus didn't even do intentionally. For just being himself, because the world needs people like him.
He hums, smiling at Drake, hand on Drake's cheek now. It's good to see him smile; it feels good knowing that Drake is no longer in whatever space his head had been in an hour ago. It feels good knowing he has something to do with that change. "You got any plans tonight?"
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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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Drake feels tired all of a sudden, in a way that even the stress of the conversation a minute before hadn't left him. The kind of tired that comes with hopelessness, because he just hasn't figured out why people think he's up to no good. So long pretending he was, maybe? The truth being the opposite is some kind of sick irony.
"You're lucky, you know? You've got a kind face. Pretty eyes. There's no dissonance to it, people just like you. I only ever survived by fading into the background. Safer if I don't matter."
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"I trusted you the minute you bought me chicken," he says, with a gentle smile.
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"Please tell me that's not all there was to it. Much as I love how much you wanna believe in people, that's too easy."
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He looks at Drake. "I knew you wouldn't. Trust is a choice; I decided to trust you and you've rewarded me for it every day since."
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Oh.
So much for lightening the mood.
He doesn't even know what to say to that, what response could possibly stand up to the emotion swelling in his chest. In the end he doesn't say anything at all, just smiles quietly and leans in to kiss Jesus again. Softer and slower and sweeter than the ones Jesus has initiated since showing up here.
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He hasn't had to kill anyone here. Not yet, maybe not ever--and that maybe is what lets him reach out to people as freely as he does. He still goes out armed. He always will. But he's able to risk himself in ways he never was able to back home, even before the fall; he can feel it happening.
Like right now as he kisses Drake again.
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"Thank you," he whispers between kisses. For making that choice in the first place. For staying. For coming by today. For dozens of things, big and small, probably some Jesus didn't even do intentionally. For just being himself, because the world needs people like him.
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