Given all they've just talked about, the question probably shouldn't be surprising. S isn't expecting it anyway, his stomach twisting with guilt even as he nods against J's shoulder. Really, it was probably going to have to come out eventually anyway. Even he isn't sure what he expected his endgame to be here. There's only so long he could have gone without sleep, and it's not like there could have been some moment where a switch flipped and he suddenly felt sure that J would be alright. He didn't want to have to say so, though. He made his own choice in this matter. Already he feels worse for knowing that his agreement isn't the truth, or isn't the whole truth. It isn't that he hasn't been sleeping well, he could say. It's just that he hasn't been sleeping.

He doesn't want to make J feel worse than he already does, though, and those semantics don't really make much difference. The cause and the effect are both the same. Worrying about J kept him from sleeping; several days without sleep wore him out, until, apparently, he just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He's still exhausted, for that matter, though it's like he said a few minutes ago. All that panic somehow drained him even further while also leaving him too awake, as if still on guard, his body not yet having caught up to what his mind has been assured of — that, at least for the time being, J is safe, that J will come to him if that ever seems like it could change.

"I just kept thinking," he murmurs, apologetic even as he does, "that if you woke up upset, or... couldn't sleep either, or had a nightmare or something..." He remembers what J said to him that first day, after all, that he hadn't been sleeping, that he sees and hears the people he killed. At least staying awake, he can be sure that J has slept now, but there's no telling what could happen during the night or how rattled he might wake up. "I didn't want you to have to be alone with it. In case..."