Even in his own head, it's hard to know quite how to make sense of his thoughts on the matter, never mind how to put them into words in a way that would be clear to J. Besides, whether or not he managed it, it seems fairly likely that J wouldn't agree with him anyway. S still can't just leave it at that. He can't downplay the things J has done, either, knowing it wouldn't be fair to either of them if he tried, but as far as he's concerned, it isn't nearly as simple as writing it all off as J's fault. Not all of it even was, not entirely, and the things that were still took their toll on him, too. It isn't as if he did what he did without a second thought, unbothered by the turn he'd taken.
Despite having just said he would try to be more open, though, S knows that there are things he can't say right now. It takes actual effort to bite back a comment about the worst of the things J has done not even having been his idea in the first place. Eventually, it's going to have to come up, but he can't let himself go there right now. There's too much else at hand and too much he would be in danger of saying if he let himself mention the professor and the role he played in J's crimes now. Even if it weren't for that, S thinks he would still feel the same about this, anyway. While the professor's involvement — instigation, really — is no insignificant detail, it's the toll all of it took on J that matters right now.
Still clutching J's shirt with one hand, the other, entirely at odds, smooths gently over his hair, a gesture that S hopes might be a little comforting. For his part, it's enough just to be touching J, to hold him close enough to feel him breathing. "Just because you did those things," he says, slow and careful and a little uncertain, still not even sure if this is the right approach. It's the best he can come up with, though, and he at least has to try. "It doesn't mean they didn't hurt you too, or that you weren't hurting already. It doesn't mean it was easy to carry that."
He knows, after all, what J was feeling throughout those last months, perhaps better than he should. It was one thing to read J's journal after J was dead, knowing it held the only answers, the only insight, he would ever get. That isn't the case now, and it feels far more intrusive to have read something so personal now that J is alive again. He feels all at once the impulse to apologize for it. Instead, it seems better not to draw attention to that fact again at all, especially having just offered a different apology.
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Despite having just said he would try to be more open, though, S knows that there are things he can't say right now. It takes actual effort to bite back a comment about the worst of the things J has done not even having been his idea in the first place. Eventually, it's going to have to come up, but he can't let himself go there right now. There's too much else at hand and too much he would be in danger of saying if he let himself mention the professor and the role he played in J's crimes now. Even if it weren't for that, S thinks he would still feel the same about this, anyway. While the professor's involvement — instigation, really — is no insignificant detail, it's the toll all of it took on J that matters right now.
Still clutching J's shirt with one hand, the other, entirely at odds, smooths gently over his hair, a gesture that S hopes might be a little comforting. For his part, it's enough just to be touching J, to hold him close enough to feel him breathing. "Just because you did those things," he says, slow and careful and a little uncertain, still not even sure if this is the right approach. It's the best he can come up with, though, and he at least has to try. "It doesn't mean they didn't hurt you too, or that you weren't hurting already. It doesn't mean it was easy to carry that."
He knows, after all, what J was feeling throughout those last months, perhaps better than he should. It was one thing to read J's journal after J was dead, knowing it held the only answers, the only insight, he would ever get. That isn't the case now, and it feels far more intrusive to have read something so personal now that J is alive again. He feels all at once the impulse to apologize for it. Instead, it seems better not to draw attention to that fact again at all, especially having just offered a different apology.