Jess categorised his life through a series of journeys. Not in the metaphorical sense, but in the literal bus, or car, or train journey from destination A to B. Chapter 2 to of his life started on the long haul coach journey to live with his uncle in a tiny town. Chapter 3 – when he crashed a car and broke the town princess' arm. Chapter 4 when he awkwardly sat next to that same girl wishing he could say goodbye properly to hunt down the father he never knew.

He'd had many more since then. Each journey to a new destination seemed to give his whole mind a reset. He could think clearly, he could get lost in the people watching, he felt the most at peace in purgatory between two sides. He had always felt the most natural in the anxious limbo between leaving behind what was comfortable and not know what was waiting for him at the end.

He could place a lot of his irritability in his inability to leave. Its why, he thought, the moment that things seemed to start to turn awry – he desperately wanted to head to the bus stop and get on whatever turned up.

He'd felt the normalcy that was once so sparse in his life. He had energy again. He had an appetite. He could pay attention to the world around him rather than get lost in his head. And, almost overnight, he had felt that take a drastic turn.

He wasn't sure what to do.

He felt an itch all over that he was desperate to scratch. All that he could think about was this all-encompassing, overwhelming urge to rip at his skin to rid the infuriating itch. That's what it felt like. Suddenly the notebooks, the red one holding the darkness of his characters, fuelled by his once caged depression, the black one holding the hope he'd had of inspiration once again after a few moments of thankful release. Both of the notebooks were intimidating. He didn't want to write. He didn't want to read. He didn't, really, want to get up from his pillow.

He knew that it would happen. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that a few weeks of medication and hours-long sessions with a therapist wouldn't cure him of his mind. He knew it. But he desperately wanted it to be true. And with the threat of its return, of the cloud over him and him alone, it felt even worse than before. He felt like an imposter and he was going to get caught out any second and be punished for his imitation. This constant push of fear from… from somewhere. It hung over him and because he couldn't see, or understand, where the fear was coming from – he had no way of protecting himself.

"Can you start a new pot?"

Life still moved on. Luke still needed help at the diner. Everyone had their own problems to deal with. No one noticed the mask he put on. He could hear himself laughing. He could feel himself smiling. None of it was real.

"Are you okay, Jess?" Lane sidled up next to him, whispering from the side of her mouth as she nudged him into action.

He cleared his throat, broke out of his reverie and nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep." He said meekly, "Fine." He paused, waiting for her to say something else. To accuse him of hiding something. He could tell she was suspicious – Lane had this unique ability to see through his façade. She was a great person. Rory was lucky to have her. "I'll just… go make the coffee."

"Morning!" The tuneful singing floated into the diner as Lorelai flung herself onto the closest stool and grinned at the staff behind the counter. Jess dutifully making coffee. Lane counting back receipts. Luke trying to, and failing to, explain a complication to suppliers.

"Tough Crowd."

Luke rolled his eyes at her from his place on the phone and turned to face the kitchen. Lane finished her count as she smiled up at the woman. "Morning Lorelai,"

"Finally, some life in the place." She continued to drawl sarcastically, "How's everything, Lane?"

Lane poured some of the freshly brewed coffee that Jess had just finished making, watching as he slipped behind the curtain of the back without a word. She passed the mug over to Lorelai without answering.

"Maybe I was wrong about there being life." Lorelai quipped.

"Something's up." Lane replied, ignoring her continuing attempts.

"Well, yeah. It seems a bit dreary today."

"I meant with Jess. Something's not right."

"Really?" Lorelai leaned forward, equally the same quiet volume of Lane's conspiratorial tone. "What makes you think so?" She tried to glance far enough to peek behind the small gap in the curtain, to see if he was hiding there just out of sight. It wasn't out of a need for gossip or anything malicious. Lorelai's interest stemmed from her deep like of the boy, and overwhelming concern she often found herself feeling at his state of undoing. It was amazing how quickly she could go from hating the boy and the feigned influence that she believed he may have on her daughter to seeing a damaged, yet intensely intelligent and strangely caring young man.

"He's quiet."

"Okay," Lorelai drew out the word. "He's never been the most talkative though, Lane."

"Recently he has been" She retorted. At Lorelai's incredulous expression – eyebrow raised and laughter twinkling in her eyes, Lane continued "Think about it – yes he's been back to the usual jokes and quips with Luke, but they've also actually been having conversations about what town quirk Jess has seen at Andrew's. He's been starting off a conversation with Luke, me, even you about what he's currently reading and why he could write better, or why he'll never be able to write like that. Think about it Lorelai, you come in here and you hear Jess talking to someone – even if its small talk which he hates."

"It's only 9 am though Lane. Maybe he's just tired."

Lane huffed, looking behind her, "Maybe you're right. But I've just got a feeling."

Jess offered to close up after Luke had left for his date. He told Caesar and Lane he'd deal with the clean up as they've done it without him far too many times. Caesar gleefully laughed, knocked Jess on the shoulder, and bolted out the door before he could change his mind. Lane lingered.

"Is everything alright, Jess?"

Jess nodded, smiling briefly in her direction and picking up the spray and wipe to begin wiping down the tables.

"Sure you don't need any help?"

He swallowed down the lump he could feel building. "I've got it covered, but thanks Lane."

She continued to hesitate at the door. Slowly putting on her coat and finding any way to prolong the moment before leaving.

"It's been a long day, Lane." Jess said, without looking up from where he was scrubbing at a particularly bad stain. "Especially with Kirk spilling his egg mayo sandwich on you, which I didn't even realise was possible…" He looked up briefly, "You can go home – I've got this."

Lane wanted to stay. There was an air around Jess that she had been feeling all day. She felt sad. She felt like this moment was something she should remember. And she was frightened by that feeling. Jess had depressions. This was a fact that the entire town was now aware of. Jess was also doing better – something the town had also been keen to discuss. But today was different, and Lane knew that the illness he was experiencing wasn't something that could go away as easily as his had seemed.

She wanted to say something. She was afraid of leaving him by himself. Or she was thankful that they'd become friends. Something that might jolt him into the person from a few days ago.

She had a morbid thought that kept floating through her mind. One that for the past few weeks, and more recently; days, had been pushing its way forward. As Jess opened up to her, telling her about the hotdog water soup, giving her an indication of the home life he was brought up in, and with the scars on his wrists showing themselves through his long sleeve shirts. It was clear that Jess was ill – his depression was something he had been struggling with for longer than he had realised. And the thought she could put away as she watched him clean the diner without meeting her eyes – was she didn't want to be the last person to see him alive.

"Jess –"

"I'm fine, Lane." Jess said sharply. "Please go home."

Lane nodded, and with years of repression behind her and her mother's words in her ear 'it's not your place'… she left.

The diner was always somewhere that Luke could look at and smile. It was the one place that held some many fond memories of his father for him. It was the place that he had poured his life into trying to make it into a viable business. It was where he had met the love of his life. And where he was allowed to watch the town from a distance with a fond sort of derision. It was always warm and full of light – even when the occupants were fast asleep and the switches flicked off.

He stood outside his business and home, later than he should have been, and his stomach dropped.

Something wasn't right.

He didn't know what, but something felt wrong. He was slow, he was cautious, despite his brain screaming at him to bolt up those stairs and find the boy residing there. He didn't know why, but he felt he should be taking his time, making sure to make as little noise as possible as he ascended.

The door was locked. Which meant that Jess had at least locked up behind him as was expected during the night shift. Opening it, the chairs were stacked on the tables, the dishes put away, and the place was sparkling. A lot more than it had been in a while as a matter of fact.

"Jess?"

He was met with no response.

It was fine. It was late after all, and Jess had started going to bed earlier as of late.

Luke slowly made his way up the stairs. His ears ringing with the quiet as they strained to sense any sign of movement. He paused at the top, on the precipice of falling, and waited. Would he be able to hear Jess snore from here? Did Jess even snore? He was second-guessing himself.

He took a breath and then reached for the door.

9 am earlier that day…

"Morning!"

Jess tried to focus on making the coffee. Ignoring Lorelai's entrance and breathing slowly to himself as he tried to disregard the lump building up in his throat and his eyes starting to sting.

"Tough Crowd." Lorelai continued on. She wasn't speaking to him for which he was thankful, but he wasn't sure how long that'd last.

"Morning Lorelai," Lane greeted.

Jess finished the coffee, slipping the pot over to Lane to take over as he rushed over to the curtain in desperation. Lorelai would distract everyone for enough time for him to breathe.

As soon as Jess was out of sight he found himself leaning against the cool plastered wall and breathing in slowly through his nose, and back out through his mouth. He'd only been working for an hour. Had only been 'social' for an hour and all he could think was "Why is this so difficult?"

It was as if he could feel this expectation of normalcy that was put on him. All we wanted to do was go out there and tell Luke "Today is a bad day. Today I feel sad." He felt like he wanted to take a sick day, but he didn't want to give Luke a reason. He also knew that one sick day might lead to many. The moment he sat down he wouldn't be able to get back up and before he knew it, he'd be back where he was – spending days on end staring at a growing mold patch on the wall and dreaming of new ways to disappear.

He didn't want that.

No. He needed to leave.

Like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart, Jess began to sweat and shake at the idea. He needed to leave. That was it. Like his mind was screaming in glee at the idea. He didn't want to think about whether it was the illness dictating the reaction. He didn't want to think about that it might be his depression that was thrilled with the idea of his leaving. But he decided that second to leave Stars Hollow. He wouldn't go forever, he was sure. Stars Hollow always seemed to pull him back. He just needed to go far enough, and for long enough, that he would no longer be suffocating under the pressure of the town's perfection.

He needed to do it so that he would get a head start before the worry.

He felt like he needed this like his body needed oxygen.

"Jess! You going to get down here any help?"

"Yeah!"

Just one more shift. Just one more day and then Luke would be going on a date with Lorelai and Jess could go. Just one more.

He could do that.

The quiet was unnerving. Jess obviously wasn't in the flat. You could often hear a person in such a small room, even if there were motionless in sleep – but it was clear he was gone. He had moments to let his fear go that he was going to walk in on a scene that he couldn't undo before he soon realised what must've happened. Whether it was the drawers left open with noticeably fewer clothes in them than before, or the note that was taped to the fridge with the letters "LUKE!" on the front, it was clear that Jess had taken off.

At least this time he had left a note.

Luke. I need to go. I'll do my best to explain why, but I want you to know it's nothing you did. I'm not miraculously better. I'm still ill. I'm still depressed. I still have moments where I stand there and wish I didn't exist. There are still moments where I look around at the people I'm affecting and hate myself for being a burden.

In this town, where people break a leg and it seems to be healed in a week, I can't stand the perfection they're trying to force on me. I never wanted to be the 'bad boy' of the town, and I don't want to go back to that name.

I need to go.

I'm not going to go forever. I just need enough time to breathe. I feel like I'm suffocating by staying here and I don't want to get worse. I don't want to just stand around and wait for the black cloud to come rolling back over the hills towards me. It may seem hopeless, but I'm going to try to outrun them.

I just wanted to say thanks. I'm sorry I put you through what I did. I'm sorry that I worried you. But I'm kind of glad that this all happened because it proved to me that you're willing to stop everything and drive like a maniac because I rang you scared.

I'll ring you.

He hadn't packed much. Various layers of clothing that would work for whatever the weather, his bag of toiletries (including the meds that he was going to have to find a way to restock), and he had his two notebooks, one old, one new.

He was skimming through the old one when he noticed something on the pages towards the back. There were indentations. Like someone had written in pencil and erased the evidence.

He didn't remember doing that.

Curious, he dug through his bag for the pencil he knew was likely at the bottom of his possessions, and he carefully coloured over the indentations, revealing the hidden message underneath.

Next to a passage which read:

'In my many years on this cruel planet I have noticed that everybody is putting on a performance, and the universal currency of the average bystander is attention. Only, I was a poor man who saved his coin for the wings of their recitals: as they sat on the cold benches of their train stop and fidgeted at the late transport, as they shambled in worn-down soles of their well-polished shoes to their main place of residence known as 'work', as they snuck cigarettes in their cars before picking up their offspring from playschool. The moments where they believed themselves invisible would show the reality behind their act, their shoulders would drop and their spines would curl, their breath wheezed slow and long and sad through their lips, their eyes filmed over with a concussed glaze. An unfortunate doctor would have mistaken the symptoms for illness. They would assure their confidence to anyone who would care to listen. These people, who had dutifully followed the directions that their peers had pointed towards. Followed the path to a lifetime of happiness, only to look back and discover they had at each turn and bend sacrificed any real chances for happiness that wandered across their paths until they found themselves trapped in versions of their lives that they had neither planned nor hoped for. '

Next to that in handwriting that Jess was more than familiar with read the very faint musings of Rory Gilmore:

"I should never have looked back."