( This is just- seriously not helping Jack pick a lane. It neither provokes him into violence nor encourages him toward that breakdown that's been looming for weeks — it's too bizarre, the confusion throws a wrench in his emotional momentum, and all he can do for a second is stare at the man like he's got two heads that are presently french kissing each other.
Inane distraction. Putting out a hand?
What? What? )
I-
( What? He is so unbelievably fucking confused about what any of that means, about the motivation behind it, and the fact that he can feel an embarrassing, hot streak of tears finally escaping does not help him process it any better.
And so he just flat out asks: )
Why are you here?
( Honestly, genuinely, what the fuck is this shit? )
no subject
Inane distraction. Putting out a hand?
What?
What? )
I-
( What? He is so unbelievably fucking confused about what any of that means, about the motivation behind it, and the fact that he can feel an embarrassing, hot streak of tears finally escaping does not help him process it any better.
And so he just flat out asks: )
Why are you here?
( Honestly, genuinely, what the fuck is this shit? )