It isn't that S doesn't know that, at least on some level. It's just that it's strange to hear it, especially coming from J. He's gotten through it all because he had to, too aware of the weight of all of it and how awful the last few months have been, but persisting because there was nothing else to do. Given that, he didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it in those terms, as going through a lot, even when he's considered his lingering grief. Or maybe he's just gotten too used to loss. Either way, having it put like that now gives it an unexpected perspective, his brow furrowing slightly, though he doesn't lift his head yet. He almost wants to protest — that he's the one who lived, that while he might have been alone for months, at least he wasn't carrying the guilt and deep-rooted unhappiness that J is, that at least he got closure that didn't end in fire and ash. At least he got to know he was loved, even if it came too late. He's not sure if, at the end, J would have known the same, that S loved him still, not even a knife in his chest able to make him stop.
But it is a lot. New grief built on old grief, an empty life made even emptier, trying to process having been almost murdered, and then why, a slow, painful recovery from his near-death, attempting to see some meager shred of justice done — none of that was easy in the slightest, and that's all without getting into the events of the last few days. Those have been better, but still incredibly draining, all the more so for his not having slept. It's no wonder, really, that he's such a fucking mess, as if all of it has caught up to him now that he has a chance to breathe and feel anything resembling content. It doesn't seem entirely fair, especially when he doesn't really want to say any more than he already has about how awful things have been, but it does make sense.
Coming from J, it's just hard to accept. S has no doubt that he means it, but while he meant what he said a few minutes ago about it not being a contest, J has had it so much worse. It was one thing to lean on him after his parents died, when he had no one else. He shouldn't need to be held together like this now.
"You've been through a lot, too," he murmurs, the closest he can get to saying that, fingers curling in J's shirt again. "If I don't cry too much, then neither do you."
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But it is a lot. New grief built on old grief, an empty life made even emptier, trying to process having been almost murdered, and then why, a slow, painful recovery from his near-death, attempting to see some meager shred of justice done — none of that was easy in the slightest, and that's all without getting into the events of the last few days. Those have been better, but still incredibly draining, all the more so for his not having slept. It's no wonder, really, that he's such a fucking mess, as if all of it has caught up to him now that he has a chance to breathe and feel anything resembling content. It doesn't seem entirely fair, especially when he doesn't really want to say any more than he already has about how awful things have been, but it does make sense.
Coming from J, it's just hard to accept. S has no doubt that he means it, but while he meant what he said a few minutes ago about it not being a contest, J has had it so much worse. It was one thing to lean on him after his parents died, when he had no one else. He shouldn't need to be held together like this now.
"You've been through a lot, too," he murmurs, the closest he can get to saying that, fingers curling in J's shirt again. "If I don't cry too much, then neither do you."