Jesse tugs his beanie down further over his head. It's hotter than hell outside – often is in the ABQ – but he refuses to expose his ears in public if he can avoid it. He doesn't mind so much around Badger, sometimes, but the thought of anyone else seeing his cat ears makes him skittish.
Jesse hates his ears.
He moves to the edge of the park table he's seated at to stretch into a slightly cooler spot dappled with shade from a tree a few feet away. The cooler spot successfully quells the urge to purr. He takes another sip of his orangeade, and glares through the midday sun to the swings across the park. He watches a father push his cat-eared kid on the third swing but glances away down the street after a moment to avoid looking like a creeper.
His mom had had them as well, little black ones tipped in white topped her head when she was born, but her folks had immediately had the surgery to "fix" them, which involved cracking her skull open, a lot of scar tissue and re-wiring of inner ear structure to the genetically-engineered faux human ears framing her face. She was constantly battling migraines for it and she claimed the muscles on her skull felt wrong and that deep down she felt she was lacking though she couldn't even fathom what she'd truly lost, having essentially lived her whole life without them. Reasons upon excuses and too long a delay resulted in Jesse not having the procedure within the typical timeframe after birth. All Mom's idea, as Pops had wanted the "freakish" things removed.
Jesse wishes Pops had won that argument.
The cat ears were some strange, fucked up hereditary trait his mom managed to pass down. Which, how does that even work? Did some freak way back in human ancestry bone a cat? Humans are closer in DNA to pigs or something, aren't they? He thought he'd heard that once. But that thought was even more alarming. He doesn't like to think about it much, and all the research done on the subject is usually over his head, over his fuzzy ears. Anyway. Jesse got 'em but not his lil' bro. Jesse is oftentimes torn between jealousy and relief over Jake's lack of cat ears; at least this way the little man wouldn't have to deal with this embarrassing shit.
It's technically a mutation, only some odd 1 in every 600 people got it. And in just Albuquerque alone, with a population of some odd 550k, that still puts Jesse in the minority. It's a mutation, yeah, but nothing as cool as super speed or the power to fly. Hell, even wings would be cooler. And though he is by definition a mutant, he doesn't feel all that different for it. He wouldn't dedicate a comic book to it. He is flexible, damn near double-jointed. His sense of smell is sharp, but years of drug use had dulled that down significantly. His hearing is amazing, which is more a curse than a blessing with the dub-step music all his friends are so fond of. Some of the pitches of those noises are enough to make him sick to his stomach when they strike his ears. Deep bass is almost soothing by contrast, even at loud registers, as it mimics the feel of purring in his chest and makes his scalp tingle. The purring is annoying, too, honestly. Another dumb mutant power. It's usually out of his control – ripped up out of his chest and throat whenever he was too goddamn happy or if it's pleasantly warm in a stretch of sun or if something rubs his often oversensitive skin the right way. Embarrassing. So Jesse makes it a habit to wear clothes in layers, and to keep his damn emotions in check – so he comes off as a snarky, cynical bastard.
His eyesight is something to be proud of, but he'd had no idea until his friends told him the way he could see yards away was weird. He has the best of both worlds; the spectrum of colors he can see are sharp and bright and though he wouldn't admit it, beautiful, more so when he's high and seeing at night is no problem as long as there is even the faintest light source. Fast movement can be distractedly entertaining but he refuses to give in to those impulses like a damn housecat.
His hair is just the right shade and scruffy length to hide his ears if he tapes them down. Rather, his ears are the same color of his hair – they aren't tipped or black or white. The tape is annoying and itchy and for some reason makes his lizard brain – cat brain? – jittery to have them trapped down against his skull too long, like he's defenseless for it somehow. Hiding them under the beanie is no less frustrating, but at least it didn't make him want to punch anyone out for sneaking up on him or touching him unexpectedly.
He couldn't imagine the hell it must be for those poor bastards who had tails in addition to the ears. There are days it feels like he's the only one who struggles with any of it, though. Some people displayed their ears proudly, even adorned them with piercings and clips, though Jesse would never attempt that – the things are so damn sensitive. A few whacked out celebrities had even had surgeries to give themselves cat ears, because money and too much leisure time apparently made people insane and prone to stupid decisions.
It isn't all that rare for adults to have them but typically around the age of eighteen, kids who hadn't had the removal surgery at birth were allowed to have it done if they chose. It was painful and expensive. Jesse'd heard enough horror stories and people lamenting their loss afterward for him to put off his decision. He generally finds the ears annoying but he's dealt with them this long so it really isn't a big deal.
"Hey, man."
Jesse spins around at the sound of Badger's gravelly voice; ears twitching back to catch the sound past the warm knit beanie. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine that he resolutely ignores. "Yo."
"Sorry. Car wouldn't start. You been here long?"
"Nah." Jesse gestures with a tilt of his chin to the limeade sitting on the wooden park table. He takes a sip of his own orangeade.
Badger picks it up and raises an eyebrow. "Is this another one of those orange sugar water things you like?"
Jesse snorts. "No, it's one of those gross sour ones you like."
Badger still pops the lid off and glances inside to the lime wedges floating in his drink. "Alright. Awesome, thanks." He takes a sip accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. "Much better than your weird hummingbird sugar water bullshit."
Jesse rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man."
"For real, though, is that like, a kitty thing? Liking obscene amounts of sugar?" Badger asks teasingly.
"Fuck off," Jesse mutters, ears flattening against his skull in mild irritation. He catches his friend's eyes flicking up to the movement under his beanie and he smirks enough to show his teeth around his straw, "Asshole. Try n' do somethin' nice for you."
"Aw, I take it back, dude. You can keep doing nice things for me."
"Yeah, we'll see," Jesse replies airily.
Badger huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and holds out his fist. "Here, man, happy birthday."
Jesse blinks. Not that he'd forgotten what day it was, but he hadn't expected anything. Tensions are always high at his childhood home for all his fuck-ups and the fact that his dad can't look at him for more than a few seconds if his head is uncovered, while Mom can't even look him in the eye anymore after everything that went down two months ago… He had never dropped by for any of their birthdays, so it would be all kinds of backwards for him to show up today expecting them to fuss over him. He doesn't have a head for dates anyway; he was always off by a few days when it was Badger's birthday. But the fact that Badger had remembered made something warm and pleasant curl in his gut.
"C'mon, my arm is getting tired," Badger jokes nervously, always awkward about gifts. He shakes his fist a bit.
Jesse sticks his hand out beneath his friend's, expecting a bag to fall into it for half a second before realizing how stupid it would be to make a bold handoff like that – Badger knows better. His next wary thought is that it would be another damn toy mouse for housecats because Badger is a bastard who thought that shit was funny for years until Jesse'd given him a black eye over it. What dropped instead was a Zippo, new and ridiculously shiny. It immediately had all of his attention, ears shifting up and forward in curiosity from their previously anxious tilt. The lighter catches the light in such a strange way. He lifts it up fully into the sun to find that it's a midnight blue with metallic swirls – the swirls are what are bouncing the light into his eager eyes. It reminds him of the night sky in summer.
"So, uh, good? Not good?" Badger asks after Jesse's silence stretches a bit long.
The blond glances past his gift to find Badger turning his styrofoam cup over in his hands under fierce concentration like it has the answers to the universe written on it rather than watching Jesse's curious inspection of the lighter. He grins widely. "Man, it's awesome. Thanks." He feels a purr rise up in his chest and he lets it slip into the open air freely.
The tips of Badger's very human ears tint pink just as color rises to his cheeks at the rhythmic sound. "Hah. Good, then." He takes his last, obnoxiously noisy sip from his drink before he stands. "You got babysitting duty today?"
'Babysitting;' their code for spending time with Mr White, whether or not it involved a cook. If the old man ever heard them referring to it as such, they'd both be chopped up n' melted down before being dumped in some nameless, barren stretch of desert. The idiotic thrill of that very real horror is enough to have Jesse snorting a slightly panicky laugh every time. "Nah, don't gotta babysit today. S'up?"
"Well, part two of your gift involves a trip to that art shop downtown. Figured I'd let ya pick whatever. Y'know, I mean, as long as we can get it in the car."
Jesse flashes a wide grin, purring kicking up again after the interruption from his laughter. "Yeah? You sure?"
"Hell yeah, man. It's been a minute since I've seen you work on anything. Figured I'd give ya a push." Badger shrugged, as though the offer isn't amazing, like it doesn't make Jesse's skin itch or make him want to race Badger to the car.
"My only terms are you gotta sketch me somethin' –or paint or whatever, with the stuff you get."
Jesse grins; easy terms. It has been so goddamn long since he's picked up a pencil. With the way his life has twisted into some grotesque nightmare since teaming up with Mr White, Jesse barely has the motivation to get up most mornings. Not that he gets much sleep lately. But every morning the sun pierces through the curtains of the Crystal Ship, Jesse rolls over and buries his head under his pillow, afraid that any given day would involve Jesse looking down the business end of a gun, or getting his ass kicked, or someone ending up without a pulse. 'Til his life had crossed with Mr White's again, Jesse hadn't seen a body outside a funeral service nor held a gun. He was beginning to categorize his life in terms of before and after with the distinguishing moment being Mr White's abrupt cornering of him that fateful night. Before, Jesse would duck out of sketchy situations when they arose and though he knew of the top level bosses and runners in his networks, he never got involved where he knew he didn't need to be. After, Jesse had become a damn magnet for that shit. He's seen more death than he could stomach and would totally dig not seeing any more in the immediate future. He lost his house – which Aunt Ginny gave him, fuck you very much – forced to live in the Crystal Ship, having to change location constantly to avoid interest from cops and showering in rest stop sinks. Generally finding himself up against a ledge every way he turned. DEA is always sniffin' around and Mr White doesn't give a shit, about any of it, and as pathetic as it is, that bastard is the only stable presence in his life at the moment. He's willing to give Jesse a couple hundred each week, like some kind of allowance which pisses Jesse right the fuck off. He seriously needs to find a way to change things around, and fast. He didn't realize how much his every decision relied on cash until he didn't have any. Hell, there's a lot that he doesn't have now that he'd never given thought to before. Like a bed. Damn, but he misses his bed. Having to sleep with a gas mask on most nights 'cus he'd wake himself up coughing and spluttering like he was drowning, not always because of nightmares but likely because the RV was saturated with fumes. Even leaving the windows open to air it out, boxes pressed up to one side so he could lay out a sleeping roll on the other still wasn't enough. His entire living space now is no bigger than his room back at home. Suffocating and maddening.
Not all the money Mr White gives him goes directly to fueling up the Crystal Ship, though. Jesse's squirreling some aside, always on his person just in case the RV is raided. Damn DEA doesn't need any more of his cash. But the new rainy day fund is going to a new ride, one that he can slink away in if needed; a place he can sleep without coughing up a lung. The last thing he needs is to go n' get lung cancer, like that asshole. No way in hell are they gonna be treatment buddies – holding hands as they took rounds of radiation together.
"–ou okay? Jesse? Jesse. Hey, man, seriously…"
Jesse startles when Badger puts his hand on his shoulder. At his flinch, Badger pulls away like he's been burned and holds both hands up in a nonthreatening display.
"Hey. It's okay. You alright? Lost you for a second, dude."
"Uhm. Yeah, no, fine. I'm fine." Jesse shakes his head to clear it and scratches behind his ear through the beanie nervously. "Sorry."
"Nah, nah. It's cool." Badger hesitates, staring at Jesse questioningly for a long moment and Jesse shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. "When was the last time you ate," Badger questions softly.
"I…" Jesse feels his brows furrow, which pulls the beanie down further to push against the fur of his ears irritatingly. He couldn't remember. There'd been a quick run to a gas station to fuel up the Crystal Ship a while back. He'd gotten a pack of donuts, then, hadn't he? Or was that the gas trip before? He'd been so dedicated to his rainy day fund that he hadn't allowed himself to spare much money for anything other than fuel. The drinks today had been two-for-one and he honestly had been craving something sweet – kitty gene or not – and felt it was ok to splurge three bucks on his birthday, but he couldn't remember eating. He hasn't felt all that hungry in a bit, now that he thinks about it.
"Yo. Yo, man!" Badger snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face and sighs when he finally has the blond's attention again. "You're scarin' me. Are you on something?"
"No," Jesse mutters honestly. The stash he'd had ran out a weeks ago, and after losing the house his priorities had shifted – acquiring more drugs were on the bottom of his list. As much of a dumb, worthless junkie as Mr White views him as, Jesse doesn't dare risk throwing his allowance away like that. He doesn't need the old bastard holding that over his head along with everything else.
"Alright, change of plans." Badger stands up and looks down at Jesse with what the blond hopes isn't pity.
Jesse frowns down at his cup and fights the disappointment that look sparks in him. He'd asked for Badger's help when he'd needed a place to crash but didn't push when the other man refused him. For a long time they've lived out of each other's pockets, and they'd helped pick each other up during the bad times but he doesn't need his friend to pity him. He can handle this, he'll show them all.
"Alright, new terms: you owe me a sketch still but we're getting food first. Then we're going to the art shop. Then you're coming back to my place. Mom is out for a business seminar for the weekend – so you're staying with me; she doesn't have to know. We'll do a horror movie marathon like back in the day, yeah?"
Jesse looks up, eyes wide. Hesitant to agree immediately, because it's been suggested so suddenly, it could surely be taken away just as suddenly; besides, what can he possibly offer in return? Jesse pulls his cup closer to his chest and bites the inside of his cheek. At Badger's soft smile and nod of his head towards the car, Jesse stands and grins back. His purr the entire way to the car lot is enough of an answer.