hismelody | I'm on waves, out being tossed

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I'm on waves, out being tossed

Eventually, the lack of sleep was always going to catch up to him. Through three sleepless nights, or at least mostly sleepless, S knew it, exhaustion increasing, though easy enough to push past with so much else to focus on. Still, it was only ever a temporary solution at best, nothing that could have lasted much longer than it did. With that being the case, it shouldn't be such a surprise when, after that third night, on their third full day together, he hits a wall, no longer able to keep his eyes open, drifting off while sitting on the couch. He isn't expecting it all the same, though even that, he barely registers, just as he's only half-aware of J ushering him back to bed, too tired to protest or to focus on why he should.

It's different when he wakes up. S grew accustomed a long time ago to sleeping and waking up alone, though it was one of the most difficult things about all that solitude, no longer having a warm body beside him at such times. He and J shared a bed for years, even before their relationship became more than platonic, cuddling together for warmth in the one bed in their small studio when the weather began to change. Of course, he felt it then, the beginning of something more, and it wasn't all that long after that they admitted their feelings for each other, but they spent ages like that. Even when they fought, even when J would barely speak to him, he still had the anchor of J's presence at his side, the distance sometimes easier to breach that way. It was comforting, always, but like so much else, he never thought he would lose it until he did.

He had months, though, after J left, after J died. At some point, following the former, it just became routine, as sad and empty as everything else about his life, J's absence as tangible as it ever was to be with him. It shouldn't, then, have taken only three nights to change that. They've hardly been apart in that time, though, save for brief moments of one going into another room for something or other. He's spent every night holding J as he slept, so overwhelmingly grateful to be able to do so, determined to do anything in his power to keep him safe.

So, when S wakes up distinctly alone, disoriented and unaware even of how long he's been asleep, the first thing he feels is cold, sheer terror.

For moments — sometimes hours, even — at a time, he's managed not to dwell on it. It's always been there, though, never too far from his thoughts, always ready to creep back in, the memory of how J sounded that first day on his couch, what S was so fucking scared he might do, J's promise not to stay, but to try. Even that was more than S could have asked for, and yet he knows it's not a guarantee, either. And while the past couple of days have been good more often than not, there's no telling what might happen with J alone, left to his own thoughts. Believing that a couple of decent days would be enough to override all that darkness would be entirely too naïve, even for S; it isn't as if he ever stood a chance against it before, and things are far worse now than they ever were then, even if, in some ways, they're better, too. He doesn't know how long it's been, he doesn't know what might have happened, and it's too much, his chest so tight that it feels like he can't breathe. Despite still being tired and out of sorts, it takes him only moments to pull himself out of bed, trying not to move quite as frantically as he feels but unable to take his time about it.

Not so very long ago at all, he woke up to find out, not very long after, that J was already gone. Now, as he moves out of the bedroom and down the hall, he silently prays to whatever deities might exist that he won't be too late again. He only just got J back. He isn't at all ready to lose him again.

He's dimly aware of a few things — muffled noise that he can't distinguish, the fact that the bathroom door is still open and the light off, which is something of a relief in its own right, though he doesn't really feel it until he rounds the corner and sees J sitting on the couch, watching TV. Overwhelmed and breathless, trembling with worry, he presses his free hand to his chest, the other resting against the wall for support he's surprised to realize how much he needs. "You're alright," he finally manages to say, though it's more to himself than anything else, his voice so small he's not even sure it will be fully audible over the sound of whatever J is watching. He doesn't care, just taking in the sight of him, mercifully alive and alright, relief mingling with the panic he can't yet shake off.

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J smiles, fond, at the easy, instinctive way S makes room for him, quietly inviting. He takes him up on it, kissing the curve of S's neck and slowly higher. It's light and lazy, just enjoying that he can do this. Standing here in the kitchen together, having this small lull in all the chaos, is a gift. With how S has felt since he woke up and food on the way, there's no intention in the kisses beyond savoring this moment, J content just to have this peace.

It won't last. He knows that. That's all the more reason to make the most of it while it does. Already he's found it helps to have these moments to hold onto when he starts to feel shaky; they'll make more together. "Turn around," he urges, voice soft as he noses at S's neck again. "Kiss me." It won't take much for S to listen, he knows, not moving his arms, just waiting expectantly.

S doesn't need any more prompting than that to shift, letting go of J's arms so he can carefully turn in place. Even being conscious of the fact that he'll have to move again shortly, all he really wants is to stay close, to let J's presence soothe his lingering shakiness until he feels more like himself, no longer at such risk of falling back into that awful, all-consuming panic from a few minutes ago. He still doesn't understand this — why it lingers like this, why he can't just see that J is fine and move on, why he was so scared with no real prompting in the first place — but he can't pretend it away, can only try his best to keep it at arm's length. This helps.

"I love you," he murmurs, leaning in to give J a soft kiss, hands settling at his waist now. There's more he should say, he knows, but he still can't quite bring himself to yet. He would rather hold onto this calm for just a little while longer.

This is better, J decides. Now S can feel him and see him, can be sure he's here, and J can gauge how he's feeling a little better. Besides, he likes getting kisses. Maybe he needs the reassurance too.

There's a lot he could say, he knows, a lot he could tell or ask about what just happened. It might be too much too soon, though, S barely settled. Once they're back on the couch, he decides, he can make a gentle attempt to see if S wants to talk. For now, he focuses on this moment and holding S close. "I love you," he says, lifting his hand to S's cheek. "Mm, much better like this." Guiding him slightly closer, J leans in for another kiss. It probably won't be very much longer before the water is ready, but that's no reason not to enjoy this little pause. It's probably a good distraction for both of them.

Leaning into the soft touch of J's hand at his cheek, S turns his head just enough to press a kiss to J's palm. He still can't quite say it, how grateful he is, how scared he's been, how much it helps to have had J here to see him through whatever all of this has been. Although he's pretty sure they'll have to talk about it at some point, more than what he managed while he could barely get a breath in, it feels like too much for right now, both because whatever steadiness he's managed still feels so precarious and because this is too nice to ruin just yet.

The kettle, of course, has other ideas. No sooner does S echo, "Much better," in murmured agreement than it finally starts whistling on the stove. Letting out a quiet breath, almost a laugh again, he gives J another soft kiss, not quite yet pulling away. "Let me go take care of that."

J whines, though his petulance is more feigned than real, and he laughs a moment later. "Fine," he sighs, stepping slowly back. It won't take long anyway. And he's not sure, really, what S needs right now. He's sure it's important that he stay close, but beyond that, he's just making guesses. Sometimes he doesn't know what he needs himself, so it's just figuring out as he goes if he needs help or needs to be allowed to do things for himself. As much as he wants to be in control, though, he sometimes makes himself feel worse, unable to do the things he wants to prove he can do. S, on the other hand, seems to do better when he's able to carry out little tasks, and J doesn't intend to get in his way if that helps.

Even so, he lingers close, moving alongside S, leaning against the counter. "Let's not forget it this time." He smiles, teasing. It was his own fault last time, his nerves spiking more than he could make himself ignore. This time it isn't so bad. He's a tiny bit agitated, but he thinks that would have been true regardless, worried as he's been this last while. At least this time he expected to see the fire and was ready for it.

Reluctant as he is to move away, S makes himself do so, first stepping back, then starting towards the kitchen again. Once he's switched the burner off, he carefully pours water into the waiting cups, breathing in deep as the scent of tea fills the space. Even that is a little soothing, really, though not nearly as much so as being held was, but at least J stays close, too. S is aware of it, and pretty sure that it has to be on purpose, too, but if it were the other way around — as it has been in the past — he knows he would be doing the same. No matter how hard it is to shake the thought that he shouldn't need this, he knows he does, and it is, at least, a fairly small thing, the two of them moving around the kitchen, their kitchen, like they might at any other time, tea steeping and food on the way.

It's nice, actually, if he tries not to think about what prompted this and the lingering tightness in his chest. As he gets the sugar out, he casts a small, lopsided smile in J's direction. "No, let's not," he agrees. There are far worse things than oversteeped tea, but still, he would rather avoid that this time, lingering in the kitchen rather than going back out to the couch. "Once it's ready, we can go sit until the food gets here."

J nods, smiling, faintly grateful to see S smile, too. If S couldn't muster up even that much, it wouldn't surprise J, going wholly on his own experience. That's all he has right now, though, relying on what he's been through and how he reacts and how well he knows S to try and guess how he's handling this and what he needs. It feels clumsy and inadequate, but it's something, at least. He really never thought he'd be thankful to have gone through this kind of panic — and he isn't, exactly, but it's a relief that having felt it himself might help S in any way.

"Good," he says. "I'm ready to curl up with you again." He's sure S is ready for that, too. At this point, he doesn't really care if they're standing around in the kitchen or stretched out on the couch. He just wants to hold S, to keep him close, until he's sure S feels like he's on steady ground again. "That show was really starting to make me mad. You're much better company."

"Me too," S agrees, soft and a little more serious, reaching out to let his hand brush J's for a moment. He doesn't linger for long, but it's something, a small sign of just how much he means it, and of how much this means to him. For now, it's all he can do not to dwell on what happened when he woke up, but he can't pretend nothing happened, either. Even if he wanted to, even if he tried, he doubts J would let it go that easily, and they'd both still know what happened, inasmuch as he understands that at all. At best, it would still be there, unspoken, and no matter how much more open they've been these past few days, there's already enough that they aren't talking about. He doesn't want to add one more thing to the list.

Right now, though, not wanting to just stand and wait for the tea, or get too distracted by wanting to be closer to J, he keeps moving, going to the cupboard to get out the dishes. They really do need to get more, what he bought to be the bare minimum for one not really sufficient for two, but what's here will do for now. Huffing out a breath, he glances at J again, expression gently wry. "I'd hope I make better company than watching awful people build too-small houses for their whole family. They don't seem to set a very high bar."

J laughs, soft, and shakes his head. "Ah, maybe next time I need something to be angry about," he says, "I should just turn on the TV." There's plenty enough to be irritated by out in the rest of the world without taking his frustrations out on S. In some ways, he thinks maybe that was the problem; S was close and he was already angry about everything else. Here, he's yet to go out and meet people, he has no need to work just yet, no one knows his parentage to care, and he isn't writing, so there's no failure to face. Maybe all of that will make things easier or, at least, make it easier to find something new to get mad at that isn't his boyfriend.

"There seemed to be a lot of shows like that," he adds. "Not that idea, but just people being stupid." He could question how that can possibly be entertainment, but he did watch it, even if he hated it. "You're right, a low bar."

"Are there really so many of them?" S asks, pulling a face in largely feigned displeasure. Before J got here, he hadn't used the TV at all, even though it occurred to him that it might be useful when he's so far removed from the English classes he took in school, even though he's had plenty of time on his hands. He doesn't know who would be watching shows like these, about people forcing their families into such small houses or anything else equally ridiculous, but then, J does make a good point. If he needs to be angry at something, that seems like it might not be a terrible option, though S doesn't know if it would actually provide enough of an outlet. Still, while he doesn't want to say so outright, it sounds preferable to J turning that anger towards him instead, like he so often used to.

Dishes retrieved, he pauses for a moment, taking a breath, trying to figure out if there's anything else he can get done while they're up. He turns toward J as he does, though, with another little ghost of a smile. "I can't believe you've been here two whole days and you've already used the phone and the TV more than I have."

J huffs out a laugh, stepping in closer as S turns toward him, reaching out to curl his fingers in S's shirt. "The phone barely," he says. Tipping his head up, he brushes a kiss against S's cheek. "And I only turned on the TV for something to do."

For something to occupy him, really, to keep his head busy while S slept. He doesn't think he was in danger tonight of doing any harm to himself, but it's unpredictable, and he could feel himself getting restless, thoughts starting to circle. It was better, he figured, to distract himself by any means than to try and face all of that head on by himself. Maybe it didn't shut anything out completely, but it helped to have the background noise. None of that feels like something he should tell S now, though. He just smiles a little wider, wrinkling up his nose. "You're not missing out on much."

"It doesn't sound like it," S says with a quiet laugh of his own, staying close when J reaches for his shirt. It's hard to mind that, really, when it did make for a good distraction as he was first coming down from all that panic, but it still doesn't exactly sound good. J having been so frustrated by it is cute though, really, incredibly endearing. Watching some of these terrible shows just to see J get invested in them doesn't sound like a bad way to spend an hour or two. Then again, inseparable though they've been since J first got here, he wouldn't mind anything that involves just the two of them spending time together.

Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of J's mouth. "I think the tea should be almost ready." As much as he finds it helps, at least in an obviously temporary way, to keep himself busy, to find little tasks to focus on, he really just wants to curl up for a while until their food gets here, exhausted from both lack of sleep and from the intensity of what he felt when he woke up.

J tips his head instinctively after S's, seeking out another kiss, smiling as he draws back again. "Probably," he agrees. He hasn't really kept any track of time, more focused on S than on any drink, but he's probably right. It smells good, anyway, and J's ready to get back to the couch. The food won't take too long, but it'll be long enough they can cuddle for a while, at least, and talk a bit if S feels up to it.

He nudges gently at S's chest, directing him toward the counter, though he maintains his hold on S's shirt until he can't reasonably continue. Finally, reluctantly, he lets go, stepping away to find the sugar for his tea and a spoon. He's ready to take care of adjusting it to their tastes, but thinks better of it. Better to give S something to do, he decides, holding out the spoon. "I remember yours," he says playfully. "Do you remember mine?" He's sure S does, but it's better than S just standing around while he messes with sugar and discarding tea bags and such.

At that, S shoots J a look, equal parts incredulous and fond, as if it ought to be obvious even as he clearly doesn't mind answering. "Of course I do," he says with a slight shake of his head, voice warm. All those months he was alone, it was like living with a ghost, even before J was actually dead. That little studio was the place they started really building a life together, and memories of J were everywhere, even in the most mundane of tasks. When they'd once done everything together, there wasn't anything he could do that didn't make him think of J. Put like that, of course he never moved on. Pathetic as he may so often have felt for it, he never wanted to. He knows now that he was right about that, too.

Taking the spoon from J, he pulls the tea bags from the cups, then sets about fixing J's tea the way he remembers him liking it, glancing up a moment later, as he starts on his own. "Well?" he asks, though he's fairly confident that he's right about this. Some things — so many things — are just too deeply ingrained in him to forget. "How did I do?"

Even if S had gotten it completely wrong somehow, J would have considered the effort a success. It's a good distraction, at least, enough to keep S occupied. He looks so cute like this, focused and sure. J doesn't really have to taste it to know it's right — he didn't even need to watch, though he did — but he reaches for his mug anyway. Blowing gently, he takes a tiny sip, careful in case it's still too hot.

It is, a bit, though not enough to scald, but the sip is mostly for show anyway. "Perfect," he says, his smile softening. He sets the cup down again so he can slip his arms around S's waist, stepping in close to kiss his cheek. Even though he set the challenge, so to speak, with the certainty that S would know, there's something really very soothing about that being the case. He gets it now, he thinks, why S was moved by it before. Even having had some expectation of it, he's touched. "Just as I like it."

Although he was reasonably confident that would be the case, S is still pleased and relieved both to have confirmation that he got it right. If nothing else, it would have been embarrassing to be wrong after having said that he knew, and given how much it's meant to him to have J remember such things, it's nice to be able to do the same in turn. Besides, there was always a chance that J started drinking it differently in the time he was gone, though S doesn't really think that he would have presented the challenge the way he did, setting him up to fall short of it, if that were the case.

He smiles, faint but visible, as he wraps his arms around J in turn, leaving his own cup on the counter for the moment. Ready as he is to go sit down until their food gets here, he doesn't want to be the one to pull away, too reassured by being able to hold onto J when he still feels somewhat adrift. "Good," he says, leaning in to kiss him gently. "I was hoping it would be."

That smile is as comforting as the kiss, as how sweet it is to be remembered and known. J wants to curl into him, to nestle close. He only just holds himself back. It'll be better on the couch where they can really relax. Still, he lingers a moment more, tugging S in for another kiss first.

"I knew it would be," he murmurs as he eases back. He's ready to take S's hands in his own and lead him back to the couch, but then he remembers there's still tea to carry and settles for reaching for just one of S's hands. "Let's go sit, okay?" He tucks his phone under his arm and picks up his mug again, waiting for S to grab his, too, before he starts for the couch. "Come cuddle up with me, Hyunie."

He's not quite used to having to juggle so many things. Unwilling as he is to let go of S's hand, it takes some maneuvering to get his tea safely on the table without dropping his phone. Once he's managed it, he sits before putting his phone on the table too, so he won't have to pull away if he needs it for the delivery.

S doesn't need any more encouragement than that, nodding in agreement, his fingers curling around J's as he reaches for his cup with his free hand. Even though they're hardly going far, just that slight contact is still grounding, an anchor when he still feels unsteady, or like he could too easily be. It's better than it was by far, for which he's more grateful than he knows how to say, but it isn't as easy as just putting it all behind him. Whatever it was that just happened to him was more lasting, more intense, than that. He may not understand it, really, but that much, he can tell, apparent in the way he still has to focus to keep his breathing steady, a lingering tightness in his chest, his nerves still frayed.

He feels almost guilty for it, when he knows he's already worried J more than he should have and doesn't want to make it worse by being too obviously unable to shake this off completely, but he remembers J saying that the same thing has happened to him before. That whole conversation, though only a few minutes ago, is hazy now; that much, though, stands out. S is sure he's seen J in similar states before, never knowing what to do about it, how to help. No matter how much it ever worried him, though, he had no idea it felt like that, so terrifying and inescapable that he might have thought he was dying if he weren't too aware of what dying feels like. Though it hurts badly to think of J feeling that way, there's an odd sort of reassurance in knowing that he might understand even what S wouldn't know how to understand.

Saying any of that, though, feels like too much, as if bringing it up again could risk sending him back into that panic. He has no doubt that they'll have to talk about it, that it isn't something they'll just let go of, no matter how much he wishes they could, but all the same, he can't bring himself to mention it. He stays close, though, as he takes a seat on the couch, tucked against J's side, grateful for this, too. "This is nice," he says, soft and absent.

J leans back against the couch, draping his arm around S, pulling him close. "It is," he says, reaching for S's hand with his free one, idly weaving their fingers together. Not very long ago, though, it was awful. Now that things have settled again, he's more acutely aware of it. As much as he hates when that happens to him, as horrible as it feels, it's unsettling to have seen S experience something similar. He never wanted that. There was so much he wished S understood, but he never wanted it like this.

He brushes a kiss against S's hair, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm glad you woke up," he admits. "But if you're still tired, you can go back to sleep soon, if you want. After we eat, I can come sit in there with you."

Since he arrived, S has been unflagging, always there, and J has been grateful for that. He's needed that more than he once did. But, though he's sometimes seemed a bit tired, he's also seemed okay, sleeping curled up together. Today hasn't exactly been more than usually strenuous, but it's also been a long few days, and maybe that explains the way exhaustion seemed to overcome him earlier. J doesn't think it can have been more than a few hours, though, maybe less, and if S is really that tired, he should get more rest. As badly as he wants to take care of S, seeing him like that earlier has only amplified that desire, as if, if he tries hard enough, he could protect S from feeling like that. "You were so cute, though," he murmurs, "just nodding off like that."

Head ducking a little, S smiles self-consciously at that, faint but visible. He feels somewhat guilty for it now, of all things, though it isn't as if he could have helped it or as if there's anything wrong with falling asleep. He's the one who wound up so shaken as a result. Still, J wouldn't have had to worry about him if not for that, and he's sure it would only be worse if he admitted the truth of it, that he hasn't slept since J got here for fear of something happening if he did. At least now, he doesn't think that will be as much of a problem. It was only ever going to be a short-term solution anyway, and all he can do is take J's word for it that he'd wake him up if things got that bad. He'll drive himself crazy otherwise, wear himself out even more than he has already, and it wouldn't be fair to either one of them. He remembers too well what J said the other day about not wanting to need to be taken care of, and S doesn't want to make it seem like he thinks J needs to be constantly monitored, like he can't be left alone. It isn't like that at all. S's own fear is the reason for it, and that's something he knows he has to learn to live with.

"I must've been more tired than I thought," he says, soft and sheepish. It's true, if not exactly the whole truth. He knew he would have to sleep eventually, but he hadn't expected just to start dozing off the way he did. He probably should go back to bed after they eat, but he's not sure now if he could, no matter how exhausted he is, and he wouldn't want J to be stuck just sitting in the bedroom for however long anyway. "I'll see how I feel after we eat, I guess. Right now, it's..." He pulls a slight face, nose crinkling. "It's like it wore me out but woke me up at the same time."

He doesn't want to talk about it, hesitates to say something even so vague. They both know what happened, though, at least inasmuch as he understands what happened to him at all, and there's only so much talking around it he can do. His expression softens a moment later, something uncertain in his eyes as he looks at J. "Is that normal?"

It's strange to be on this side of things. J really never expected it, never would have considered any of the things he feels to be normal. Maybe other people experience that kind of thing, but he doesn't really know. He's never had anyone to talk to about it, and he's certainly never known anyone else who knew how it felt, or at least who admitted to it. Like so much else, he just assumed it wasn't something wrong with him. To have S look at him like this, asking this — maybe it is normal. Maybe it's more so than J knew. If S felt it, too, then it is, at least, not something specific to himself.

He can't see S look to him like this and not want to reassure him. For once, it feels almost like a good thing to have had these attacks. Nodding, he leans close to kiss S's cheek. "It is for me," he says. "I don't know if other people feel that too. It's exhausting, but..." He hesitates only to try and figure out how to put it into words, glancing around as if he might be able to pull them out of the air. It isn't long, though, before he looks back to S again. He can't look away from him for long. Squeezing S's hand gently, he frowns. "Ah, it's like getting ready to fight something. Even if I know it's okay, it's like my body doesn't know that. Like I have to be ready. Even after it mostly stops. It takes a while to go away."

He shakes his head, rueful. "I wish you didn't have to know that," he murmurs. It's a terrible thing to live with, something he never really gets used to, the terror fresh every time, and somehow harder to stop for his knowing that it's almost always irrational. It hurts to know that S understands that firsthand, when J would give anything to be able to protect him from things like that.

Whether it's how other people feel or not, S doesn't particularly care. It's enough to know that J understands what he means, even as it hurts, too, to think about him in such a state. Before, it was bad enough to see, to know that something was happening but not what, to be so helpless in the face of what J was going through. Now that he's felt what's apparently something similar, though, it's that much worse — less frightening, for having had someone to talk him through it and help him with it now, but more upsetting. With a slight frown, he nods in agreement, giving J's hand a gentle squeeze in turn.

"I wish you didn't, either," he says, soft and apologetic, letting his head rest against J's shoulder again. "I never knew that's what it was like. I knew... it was bad, but..." But it was so much worse than he could have imagined. He can't say that, though, not in so many words. Already he must have worried J more than enough, too much. Emphasizing just how awful it felt — feels still, really, though in a far more distant way, no longer half as present and overwhelming but the effects of it lingering all the same — wouldn't do either of them any good. If he thought it were remotely possible, he wouldn't want to talk about any of it at all, but since he's sure that's not an option, he might as well do all he can not to make it worse than it already is.

Most of what else he could say, then, he decides against. He doubts an apology would go over all that well, anyway, though it would be entirely genuine. J has more than enough to deal with as it is without having to worry about him, too. Instead, he exhales slowly, thumb brushing the back of J's hand. "Having you here helps, though."

He used to wonder a lot why he has to live like this and just what's wrong with him that he feels this way. After the last few months, though, it's mattered less than the other things he did, and felt more like a punishment for being someone he didn't even know he was, still awful but somehow justified. It's been so long that not feeling that way doesn't seem like an option anymore or something to wish away, a flicker of hurt stirring when S does it for him. It isn't fair for him to feel it either, he thinks. It's been a while since he thought as much.

Lifting their entwined hands, he presses a kiss to S's, then turns his head to brush one against his hair. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "I'm right here." If all he can do is be at S's side, then that's what he'll do. Not being able to do much else hurts, too, but he knows how helpless he is to fight his own panic. If he had a way of doing so, he'd teach S or do it for him, something, anything to put this right. But this is it, all he can do, holding him close. "I love you. I..."

He sighs, uncertain. It is bad, worse than he ever knew how to describe, not least given how foolish he always feels during and after, unable to explain how he can be entirely paralyzed by a fear that he knows is extreme. Even when it's warranted, it's often so much more than it needs to be, and that only makes it harder to push through. It's always felt easier to try and brush it off afterwards or just not to talk about it. That isn't really an option now. "It is bad. It stays bad. The only helpful part is that now I know what's happening when it starts. Still feels like..."

Like he's dying, he means to say, and swallows it back, shaking his head. It won't help to use those words.

"Like that," S finishes for him, nodding slightly. He's not sure if that's what J meant to say, but it isn't as if he knows how to describe that feeling. At least he doesn't have to try. As much as he hates that this is something J is so familiar with, he would have been so much more lost without someone to talk him through it, someone who understands. He hadn't known what was happening to him at first. He can only imagine how much more terrifying that would have been if he'd been on his own, or if J hadn't experienced the same thing too. It feels a little strange to think about something so awful and consider that it could have been worse, but it's true. At least if this had to happen at all, it did so in the best way it could. At least J was and is still here, despite how terrified he was in those first minutes after waking up.

Exhaling slowly, he nestles just a little closer to J, still clasping his hand. Even now, it's hard to know what to say and what to hold back. He could tell J that was the first time that happened to him, but it wouldn't be quite true, and he doesn't want to talk about the others, to risk saying more than he already has about finding out that J died. He could apologize again, and it would feel warranted to him, but he doubts J would agree. He could try to dismiss his reaction as irrational, but it isn't as if that fear is going anywhere just because J was alright this time around. It's something he has to learn to handle instead, if he does get that chance.

"I don't know if that makes sense," he settles on instead, "to wish you didn't know what it feels like but be glad you were there to help. But I guess sense doesn't have all that much to do with it anyway."

"No, it makes sense," J says, quick but still soft, thumb brushing gently along S's side where his hand rests. "I... I wish I didn't know either. But... if you have to know too... at least you don't have to go through it alone." He doesn't want it, and he could never say he does, but it helps, a little, to have this. It almost feels like there's a point to something he knows is entirely pointless even so. He would never have wished this on S, but he would have done anything not to feel so alone with it himself, trying to understand what was happening to him, then living by himself with it. If he can spare S that much, it's worth something at least.

And still part of him wants to apologize. He knows it can't be true, but still some tiny, irrational voice in his head suggests it's his fault, that his madness is somehow catching. That can't be true. He knows it can't be true. It wouldn't make any sense. If such things were contagious, he wouldn't have had to figure it out by himself, and S would have caught it long ago. That isn't how it works. It still takes a moment for him to be able to swallow back the apology.

"Sense has almost nothing to do with it," he adds, still quiet. "Sometimes nothing at all." It's hard to know just what he wants to say. Instinctively he knows this isn't S's fault, that he can't be blamed for feeling what he feels or for what his body does. That's just how these things work. But it's difficult to put that into words when it's not what he would say to himself, almost entirely the opposite. "Even when it does, even when you have a reason to be afraid, it's just... overpowering. It eats away at everything." He hesitates, worrying at his lower lip, glancing over at S. He looks so sweet like this, tucked into J's side, and all J wants is to protect him, to find some way to undo this. "You were scared something happened to me?" He frowns at himself, shakes his head slightly. "Scared I did something."

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