J nods, every response S makes coming as a relief. Little by little, he seems to be doing better, but that's relative, something he's all too familiar with. Even if he can breathe a little more now, he's still shaking, and J wishes he knew how to help with it, how to do anything more than hold him tight and keep talking. A part of him wants to take this time to tell S he understands, that he's felt this, too. For similar reasons, even — there have been days when he lingered on the edge of death and it terrified him, the desire to simply stop existing more frightening than death itself actually is. But S said to just talk to him, and he suspects that this what he needs, not J rattling on about existential crises. Later, maybe, he can try and tell him these things. For now, his priority is taking care of S.
"Probably," he says. "They clearly care more about being on TV than about their children." He can't imagine it. He knows there are people for whom that's the case, but it's one of the few ways in which he knows he was incredibly lucky growing up. He saw less of his mother than he wanted, but she did all she could to provide for him, gave up everything she knew to keep him. If he ever had kids, he'd do the same. In a strange way, he thinks he might even be doing that simply by not wanting children at all, knowing he could never give even hypothetical kids the care they need. He doesn't have the temperament for it, and the last several months have made it clear he's hardly fit to take care of himself, never mind any other living creature.
Except, of course, for S, and even there he feels a bit lost, chattering on in hopes of helping in any way. "Poor things. I hope they get out of there as soon as they can, but the dog is stuck. Yah, but sharing a room with a sibling like that! I'm glad I was an only child. Only ever liked sharing a room with you. I would have had to if I had a sibling, but they could give their kids better and they don't. Isn't that what people are supposed to do, try and give their kids better?"
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"Probably," he says. "They clearly care more about being on TV than about their children." He can't imagine it. He knows there are people for whom that's the case, but it's one of the few ways in which he knows he was incredibly lucky growing up. He saw less of his mother than he wanted, but she did all she could to provide for him, gave up everything she knew to keep him. If he ever had kids, he'd do the same. In a strange way, he thinks he might even be doing that simply by not wanting children at all, knowing he could never give even hypothetical kids the care they need. He doesn't have the temperament for it, and the last several months have made it clear he's hardly fit to take care of himself, never mind any other living creature.
Except, of course, for S, and even there he feels a bit lost, chattering on in hopes of helping in any way. "Poor things. I hope they get out of there as soon as they can, but the dog is stuck. Yah, but sharing a room with a sibling like that! I'm glad I was an only child. Only ever liked sharing a room with you. I would have had to if I had a sibling, but they could give their kids better and they don't. Isn't that what people are supposed to do, try and give their kids better?"