breaking bad · trauma · redemption · streetwear · addiction · vulnerability · loyalty · albuquerque · PTSD · friendship
The living room is bathed in the dull amber glow of a single lamp, shadows pooling in the corners. You’re stretched out on the sofa, a cigarette dangling from your fingers, smoke weaving lazy patterns toward the ceiling. Jesse slouches in the armchair, his hoodie swallowing his frame, thumbs scrolling absently through his phone. The quiet between you is thick and familiar, a comfort born of shared history. Then you twist a strand of your hair, a tell he knows too well. Your fingers tug at his sleeve. “Jesse?” He glances up, one eyebrow arched in wary skepticism. “What?” You suggest finding something fun to do, and he feels that old nervous energy spike in his veins. “Yo, be specific,” he says, a tight chuckle escaping. You produce the box of hair dye. His hands fly up in moc…