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Judas is smoking a cigarette. It’s all he ever seems to be doing these days, smoking or fighting or drinking or sleeping. Well, trying to sleep. It doesn’t come so easily to him with all the stress, not unless he drinks himself into a stupor.
Which he’d done last night. And probably will tonight too if he can’t get his stupid brain to shut up about how he’s ruined his own life. How he’s thrown away the only good thing to ever happen to him.
As though reading his mind, the man of his thoughts calls out his name. Judas thinks he’s imagining it at first, but of course he can’t be so lucky.
“Judas,” Jesus repeats and Judas finally turns around to face him.
“Fuck off,” he says flatly. He’s not in the mood to hear him explain himself, not now.
“Judas, wait.” Jesus’ voice is pleading and desperate. “I know I messed up.”
Judas rolls his eyes. “Do you?” He starts to brush past him, but Jesus grabs his arm. Judas knew he would.
“Yes, I do.” Jesus grips his arm like a lifeline, nails digging into Judas’ skin even through his jacket. “I came to apologize.”
Judas almost laughs. “Apologize? Since when do you apologize?” He doesn’t pull his arm away. He just lets Jesus cling to him, basking in the closeness that he hasn’t gotten from him in over a week.
“Since now.” Jesus takes a breath. “My mother… she…” He looks like he’s struggling with the words. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”
So that’s how it is. Another excuse, another defense. Typical. Judas starts to pull away.
“But!” Jesus’ grip tightens. “That isn’t an excuse. I know she can be…” He flounders for a moment. “A lot. She can be a lot.”
Judas scoffs and rips his arm away, but he doesn’t walk off. He just brings his cigarette to his lips and waits for Jesus to continue.
Jesus takes a breath. “She doesn’t like you.” He says it like it’s supposed to be a revelation.
“Yeah. I got that.” Judas rolls his eyes and takes another drag, blowing the smoke onto Jesus’ clothes. All he can think about is how Mariam had just washed that shirt and it’s going to reek of smoke again anyways because of him. He doesn’t know if he should feel guilty or smug.
“But you don’t like her either.”
“Nope.”
He’d tried to like her, he really did. He’d done his damnedest to like her, but it just hadn’t worked out that way. Not with her constant condescension and the way she looked at him like he was worthless. Like he was a child whose behavior needed to be corrected. Like he was something horribly broken.
Jesus sighs. “I’m trying to understand that. I am.” He takes Judas’ hand. “And– and the way she treated you wasn’t right.” It sounds like the words are struggling to escape him.
Judas looks at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected Jesus to actually voice that much.
“I don’t need you to quit smoking,” Jesus says quietly. “I don’t need you to stop being angry. I don’t need– I don’t need you to change. I don’t want you to change.” The words spill from his lips like a cascade, like if he doesn’t get them out, they won’t ever be heard from again.
Judas studies Jesus for a moment, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Does she know that?”
Jesus winces. “I’ll talk to her. I will.” He squeezes Judas’ hand tightly.
So no. Judas sighs deeply, not knowing how to feel. This is the apology he's been hoping for, but he still doesn't feel satisfied. If anything, he feels guilty for putting that pathetic look on Jesus’ face, for making him upset. How does Jesus’ apology make him feel bad?
Judas takes a long drag to avoid answering, trying to find the right words to say. He feels lost, scrambling for something to make this right. Of course he doesn't want to stay broken up with Jesus, he loves him more than anything, but Judas doesn't know if he can stand the amount of pressure from both him and his mother. It's too much for one man to bear.
“I want to be there when you do,” he decides. “I want to set some boundaries and have her respect them. I don’t want any more of this sucking up to her bullshit.”
Jesus falters and for a moment, Judas thinks he might refuse him or at least question him. Instead, he takes a breath and nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Judas raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah. If that’s what you need, then okay.” He steps closer, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t want to lose you.” It’s said so softly and earnestly that it makes Judas’ heart melt. “And I think I’ve been to blind to the way she’s been acting. Whatever boundaries you need to place, I’ll support you.”
Judas puts out his cigarette and flicks it into the nearest trash can. “Good.”
“Are we alright?” Jesus searches his face.
“We will be.”
A few months ago, this would’ve ruined them. Judas would’ve been unable to reach a compromise and he would’ve self-sabotaged until he reached rock bottom. But he’s trying to make this relationship work, damn it, and sometimes that means actually communicating instead of letting everything build into an explosion.
It means compromise. It means discomfort. And isn’t that the scariest thing in the fucking world?