"Oh, welcome home!" she shouts over her shoulder, awkwardly running back to the wedding, her clumsiness surely nurtured from lack of exercise, Jess thought wryly, smirking fondly at the Gilmore's general abstinence from physical activity of any kind.
As she retreats, so does this moment, sequestering itself deep within his mind along with all other pretenses of a promising future, a self-defense mechanism programmed when bearing the burden of hope at the forefront of his mind became too painful; any heart worn on a sleeve is open to the elements, easily susceptible to injury. By burying his emotions, Jess could face the world with scathing bitterness, find disappointment in everything to avoid caring about anything. Somehow however, this shield of his could not withstand the pure sincerity of her intentions; she found the small kink in his barrier, for by living up to all her promise she presented him with no disillusionment. After first meeting her, Jess had waited patiently but never once could he summon a morsel of regret for their encounters. Surprisingly, he could stand her. Even more surprisingly, she could tolerate him.
To find sanctuary from the harsh, bleak world he lived in, Jess had always delved into a new one, conveniently provided by any dusty old tome he could scrounge up the money for. He read in the dreary, gloomy corner of the worn down apartment in which his oh-so-responsible mother lived with him, huddled around his small lamp, searching for solace. She read while buried snuggly under her comforter, her room and life illuminated by light, tunneling through book after book for she saw the promise in all. He fled within himself, his potential trapped beneath his moody exterior like a future pearl within an ugly oyster. She alone saw the beauty within, her innocent and genuine belief in good a X-ray into his soul; she found, opened, released him through their mutual passion for literature as if with each discussion they had, a bit of his personality was laid bare. They, through their environment and experiences, were blatantly different, but inexplicably the same. Together, Jess and Rory were Literati.
And thus Jess began, for the first time in a long time, to think about someone else rather than himself. Unfortunately, Rory already belonged to everyone else; she was her mother's daughter, the town's beloved star, and, Jess always acknowledged loathingly, Dean's girlfriend. He found cynical humor in his circumstances; of course his savior, the only advocate he had, would be kept from him by something as trivial as a high school boyfriend.
For a brief time he had left, cowardly returning home because living the motions of the life he had come to expect surely was less painful than yearning for the life she believed he deserved. But he couldn't stand it. Rory had instilled in him the belief that his old life wasn't worthy of him, that he could do more, and somehow, he realized, her support was more meaningful than anything in his beloved New York City. So departing from his previous live for a second time, recognizing he had been uncomfortable in his old skin, Jess came back to prove her right.
Today he had returned. Today she had come to him. She found him, kissed him, left him. He had seen the shame and shocked betrayal in her eyes; As warm as he felt that she wanted him too, his joy was doused in the icy realization that even if she could read him as easily as she did her precious books, she still belonged to her mother, the town, and Dean, all of whom did not and would never approve. And so this moment sequesters itself with all other bitterly sweet ones, but this time Jess admits he would gladly face more, knowing he could be better with her, better for her.