This, S finds, hurts nearly as much as any of the rest of it, his expression turning slightly bewildered as he shakes his head. It isn't as if he's never been mad at J. When they fought, he could hold his own; he's incredibly patient, but short-tempered, quick to snap, when that patience finally runs out, just one of many flaws that he's sure contributed to the way everything fell apart. For this, though, he doesn't feel anything even resembling anger, and he hasn't in a long time. He wouldn't want to, either. Maybe it would be warranted, given everything, but it would also be such a fucking waste. He's too relieved to be mad now, and even when he was before, it was short-lived, as much with himself as with J, if not more so. Now, even more than after it first happened, he can hardly blame J for leaving. He wishes desperately that J hadn't left, but they hadn't been happy in a long time before then, and J hadn't seemed able to write for nearly all of that time. It's so easy now to think back on things they could have done differently, but it isn't as if they could have known then how things would turn out.
"I'm not mad," he says slowly, mouth curving into a deep frown. "I'm... hurt, but I'm not mad." Even that feels uncomfortable to say, but it is, again, the only truth he has here, and if J wants him to be able to turn to him, then he has to be able to say such things. Ignoring the worst parts of their past won't do either of them any good. They both know what happened, though. It's painfully apparent that J feels guilty enough as it is without S pouring salt in that wound. He's had a long time, anyway, to try to come to terms with all of it, though he didn't really understand until the other day, though he's still not sure he entirely does. If he was angry, though, it's long since burned out. All of it just makes him sad, really — not just for himself, and for what might have been, but for J, too.
Sniffling again, he turns his head towards his shoulder, trying to wipe away some of his tears with it, not wanting to pull his hands away from J's. "And you don't need me to tell you what things were like before you left," he adds, quiet, a little unsteady. Horrible is J's description for it, not his. S can't argue that, really, but he doesn't feel like he needs to say it when J has done so more than once already. "But... you weren't happy. You hadn't been, for a long time. I can't be mad at you for that. Or for feeling like you couldn't talk to me." If anything, the latter feels more like his own fault than J's, but he can't imagine it would do any good to add that.
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"I'm not mad," he says slowly, mouth curving into a deep frown. "I'm... hurt, but I'm not mad." Even that feels uncomfortable to say, but it is, again, the only truth he has here, and if J wants him to be able to turn to him, then he has to be able to say such things. Ignoring the worst parts of their past won't do either of them any good. They both know what happened, though. It's painfully apparent that J feels guilty enough as it is without S pouring salt in that wound. He's had a long time, anyway, to try to come to terms with all of it, though he didn't really understand until the other day, though he's still not sure he entirely does. If he was angry, though, it's long since burned out. All of it just makes him sad, really — not just for himself, and for what might have been, but for J, too.
Sniffling again, he turns his head towards his shoulder, trying to wipe away some of his tears with it, not wanting to pull his hands away from J's. "And you don't need me to tell you what things were like before you left," he adds, quiet, a little unsteady. Horrible is J's description for it, not his. S can't argue that, really, but he doesn't feel like he needs to say it when J has done so more than once already. "But... you weren't happy. You hadn't been, for a long time. I can't be mad at you for that. Or for feeling like you couldn't talk to me." If anything, the latter feels more like his own fault than J's, but he can't imagine it would do any good to add that.