jesse fucking hated this. rehab. a sharing circle. he couldn't even see how this shit even really helped people— forgiving yourself? recgnozong your disease? what a load of shit. fuck the top-many-steps program, fuck the methadone and fuck rehab.

at least there was one good thing in here. you. what you were recovering from, jesse didn't know. jesse didn't care. he was a methed out loser ninety percent of the time, so whatever it was you had going on, he doubted it was much worse. it wasn't his business, anyway.

he had picked up quick on his quiet you were during meetings. when asked a question, most of the time you just shook your head and waved it off. he liked that. you didn't owe anyone an explanation, and neither did he. they couldn't make you talk. both of you seemed better off observing, rather than participating.

at least, until a few weeks ago. you'd crack. for what reason, no one knew, but you'd finally shared a sparse amount of detail about yourself, your addiction. jesse had done the same right after. it just felt right. he had felt alone here, in his isolation, but seeing your struggle the same from afar had made the weight seem less heavy. now, it was his turn to do the same for you.

he could still recall the way your head turned towards him at his words. the way your eyes narrowed curiously, but your lips curled upwards in the slightest smile. you had been attached at the hip, since. he was glad he had someone to connect with in here; with no judgement, with the same sort of opinions.

"hey." he greeted, brandishing a pack of cigarettes and that usual dorkish grin of his, "my friend smuggled these bitches in all, y'know, james bond style. c'mon. you and i both know you could use a smoke after that bullshit they spewed in there." he gestured behind him, towards the meeting that had just ended, people slowly meandering out and evidently back to their rooms.