He's never been good at dealing with confrontations, even if the other person isn't being aggressive about it. His first instinct is always to just stay quiet and try to get away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but as much as he wanted to do just that, he found it was very difficult to when also confronted with gentle, comforting touches. Phil's quick to check him over, knowing how much pressure to apply where, but bringing up the medications he's taking-- ... supposed to be taking, that throws him off.
Jeremy's not expecting Daryl to approach him as well, and once his hand's started running through his hair, he's at a loss and frozen in place. It's too much all at once, but he can't bring himself to pull away or ask them to stop. His eyes close, tense at first, and conflicted over whether he should tell them about about his medication, or just stay quiet, or push them away and not deal with it at all. All those thoughts run quickly through his head, but when he lifts a hand to start pushing away, he hesitates. The feeling of being crowded and cornered he was expecting isn't there, and instead there's a sense of comfort and care that he finds himself almost longing for. His headache doesn't seem so bad.
So it's understandable that he feels a little disappointed when it stops, looking around and wondering where Daryl went off to and why. He meets Phil's worried gaze for a moment, but ends up staring down at his feet after, still reluctant to say anything. They both worry about him enough, he didn't need to make that worse.
The blanket nest Daryl sets up is also completely unexpected, a surprise and a kind gesture that Jeremy feels wholly undeserving of. The two of them were so concerned about him, going out of their way to look after him and make sure he was okay and felt safe with them. The thought that they'd be much happier without him being such a burden crosses his mind, and he almost voices that thought, but he keeps it to himself as he makes his way over, a hand tugging on Phil's sleeve to bring him along. He only lets go after a long moment of staring at the pile of pillows and blankets set up for him, before crouching down and crawling in, tugging a blanket over his head and curling up as small as he could make himself. There's a miserable-sounding whimper that leaves him as he closes his eyes, before he quietly admits to it.
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Jeremy's not expecting Daryl to approach him as well, and once his hand's started running through his hair, he's at a loss and frozen in place. It's too much all at once, but he can't bring himself to pull away or ask them to stop. His eyes close, tense at first, and conflicted over whether he should tell them about about his medication, or just stay quiet, or push them away and not deal with it at all. All those thoughts run quickly through his head, but when he lifts a hand to start pushing away, he hesitates. The feeling of being crowded and cornered he was expecting isn't there, and instead there's a sense of comfort and care that he finds himself almost longing for. His headache doesn't seem so bad.
So it's understandable that he feels a little disappointed when it stops, looking around and wondering where Daryl went off to and why. He meets Phil's worried gaze for a moment, but ends up staring down at his feet after, still reluctant to say anything. They both worry about him enough, he didn't need to make that worse.
The blanket nest Daryl sets up is also completely unexpected, a surprise and a kind gesture that Jeremy feels wholly undeserving of. The two of them were so concerned about him, going out of their way to look after him and make sure he was okay and felt safe with them. The thought that they'd be much happier without him being such a burden crosses his mind, and he almost voices that thought, but he keeps it to himself as he makes his way over, a hand tugging on Phil's sleeve to bring him along. He only lets go after a long moment of staring at the pile of pillows and blankets set up for him, before crouching down and crawling in, tugging a blanket over his head and curling up as small as he could make himself. There's a miserable-sounding whimper that leaves him as he closes his eyes, before he quietly admits to it.
"... I s-stopped taking 'em. Couple w-weeks ago."