[ rhys idly listens to the sounds of jack's cooking and he knows who's he talking about then. the meriff of concordia, the one judy mentioned. he wonders if that should have more meaning for him but instead it just tugs at something at the back of his brain and he can't exactly remember what. fuck. so instead he looks down to his socks again, smoothing out a wrinkle in the fabric as jack's words bring him an odd kind of comfort. ]
Even you? Are you that guy right now, Jack? The one holding the gun? [ he laughs and it's definitely still bitter, sad. ] I don't know, man, if I die here, I'm just expecting it to be you.
[ what... the fuck, rhys? you don't just say that? you don't just SAY things like that to a person but that's where rhys is right now, sleepy and frazzled and way too accepting of the idea that jack is going to try and kill him again. he expects it, honestly, even if he doesn't want it.
which is why his breath catches slightly when jack willingly comes closer and he moves with numb hands and a slight widening of his eyes to give jack his mug and work in tandem with him. there's an odd kind of synchronicity in the movements and rhys knows that jack wouldn't really be doing that on purpose so he tries to push it out of his mind. no, it's not like they're friends again. even a year later, he's not used to jack not being there anymore, hovering over his shoulder and giving his added commentary. it's a lacking feeling, like missing a limb.
he drums his fingertips on the counter a few times, watching as jack goes through the coffee serving movements and his eyes flick upwards to jack's face as he speaks. he wonders if he should clarify, that there's a difference in that kind of murder and what handsome jack does. he opens his mouth to say but then jack finishes with something else -- something that rhys has to take a moment to let out a slow breath as he processes it. his head drops back against the wall and one leg slides down to hang off the counter as he stares up at the ceiling for a moment.
no, he isn't a psychopathic murderer now, but when does he become one? ]
Not yet. It, uh, took a long time for me to see it and I kind of ignored it when my friends tried to -- tried to convince me otherwise and ditch you. But it wasn't until everything went to shit with us that I realized they were right. I thought a lot about it though since and I mean, I... don't think that's you right now but I think you're capable of it.
[ he shrugs, biting at his bottom lip and reaches out to take his mug with both hands when it's done, fingers deciding to tap over that instead. he feels nervous suddenly, fidgety, like saying the wrong thing will get hands around his throat.
but. but. that's not this jack, is it? this jack is listening to him. ]
So... yeah. You're going to kill me, sure, I get that, but I uh.... I hope you don't lose whatever it is keeping you together right now. I've seen enough of the other you to know that this... well, it's probably better.
no subject
Even you? Are you that guy right now, Jack? The one holding the gun? [ he laughs and it's definitely still bitter, sad. ] I don't know, man, if I die here, I'm just expecting it to be you.
[ what... the fuck, rhys? you don't just say that? you don't just SAY things like that to a person but that's where rhys is right now, sleepy and frazzled and way too accepting of the idea that jack is going to try and kill him again. he expects it, honestly, even if he doesn't want it.
which is why his breath catches slightly when jack willingly comes closer and he moves with numb hands and a slight widening of his eyes to give jack his mug and work in tandem with him. there's an odd kind of synchronicity in the movements and rhys knows that jack wouldn't really be doing that on purpose so he tries to push it out of his mind. no, it's not like they're friends again. even a year later, he's not used to jack not being there anymore, hovering over his shoulder and giving his added commentary. it's a lacking feeling, like missing a limb.
he drums his fingertips on the counter a few times, watching as jack goes through the coffee serving movements and his eyes flick upwards to jack's face as he speaks. he wonders if he should clarify, that there's a difference in that kind of murder and what handsome jack does. he opens his mouth to say but then jack finishes with something else -- something that rhys has to take a moment to let out a slow breath as he processes it. his head drops back against the wall and one leg slides down to hang off the counter as he stares up at the ceiling for a moment.
no, he isn't a psychopathic murderer now, but when does he become one? ]
Not yet. It, uh, took a long time for me to see it and I kind of ignored it when my friends tried to -- tried to convince me otherwise and ditch you. But it wasn't until everything went to shit with us that I realized they were right. I thought a lot about it though since and I mean, I... don't think that's you right now but I think you're capable of it.
[ he shrugs, biting at his bottom lip and reaches out to take his mug with both hands when it's done, fingers deciding to tap over that instead. he feels nervous suddenly, fidgety, like saying the wrong thing will get hands around his throat.
but. but. that's not this jack, is it? this jack is listening to him. ]
So... yeah. You're going to kill me, sure, I get that, but I uh.... I hope you don't lose whatever it is keeping you together right now. I've seen enough of the other you to know that this... well, it's probably better.