He can see Cougar shutting down, going into his uber-zen robot mode, and it just makes him angrier. Jake has never been able to shut down, not properly, and it infuriates him that Cougar does it when he himself feels like he's going to explode with feelings.
"You're such a fucking liar," he accuses. "Not good with words. Yes you are! I've kept every single one of your letters, goddammit, I know how good you are with words when you put your mind to it."
Cougar stands, picking up the letter and putting it in his pocket, before he tries to leave. Oh no. Jake is not having that.
"You, sit down," he orders, stepping in front of him and jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "I'm not done with you. You don't get to run away from this. And give me back my letter."
He snatches it from Cougar's pocket, smoothing it out against his chest, and then goes to carefully put it away in the drawer he keeps all the other letters in.
Sitting on the bed, sitting next to him, is too much. So Jake settles down in the computer chair again, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands for a moment before he sits up, scrubbing his palms over his face before letting his hands drop. "No I couldn't," he insists, finally at a normal volume and not half-shouting. "You were falling apart in front of me, Cougs, I was so fucking scared I'd lose you if I even breathed wrong. I couldn't dump my problems on you like that." So he had kept his mouth shut, tried to project 'obnoxious cheerful Jake' as much as possible, and poured his heart out into his notebook late at night when everyone was supposed to be asleep.
"I don't know anything about you," he points out, nearly whispering now. "Without the letters, that is. You never tell us about your family, about your hobbies, nothing. I talk, and talk, and talk, and sometimes you grunt at me, but you don't open up to me. You don't open up to any of us. And in Bolivia... You were a shell of a person. Why didn't you confide in me?" He frowns, looking stricken. He feels startlingly close to tears, and he doesn't like it. "You said you felt like you could tell me anything. Why didn't you?"
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"You're such a fucking liar," he accuses. "Not good with words. Yes you are! I've kept every single one of your letters, goddammit, I know how good you are with words when you put your mind to it."
Cougar stands, picking up the letter and putting it in his pocket, before he tries to leave. Oh no. Jake is not having that.
"You, sit down," he orders, stepping in front of him and jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "I'm not done with you. You don't get to run away from this. And give me back my letter."
He snatches it from Cougar's pocket, smoothing it out against his chest, and then goes to carefully put it away in the drawer he keeps all the other letters in.
Sitting on the bed, sitting next to him, is too much. So Jake settles down in the computer chair again, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands for a moment before he sits up, scrubbing his palms over his face before letting his hands drop. "No I couldn't," he insists, finally at a normal volume and not half-shouting. "You were falling apart in front of me, Cougs, I was so fucking scared I'd lose you if I even breathed wrong. I couldn't dump my problems on you like that." So he had kept his mouth shut, tried to project 'obnoxious cheerful Jake' as much as possible, and poured his heart out into his notebook late at night when everyone was supposed to be asleep.
"I don't know anything about you," he points out, nearly whispering now. "Without the letters, that is. You never tell us about your family, about your hobbies, nothing. I talk, and talk, and talk, and sometimes you grunt at me, but you don't open up to me. You don't open up to any of us. And in Bolivia... You were a shell of a person. Why didn't you confide in me?" He frowns, looking stricken. He feels startlingly close to tears, and he doesn't like it. "You said you felt like you could tell me anything. Why didn't you?"