The gift would be thoughtful enough anyway, especially with how nicely bound the notebook is. Hearing J's explanation for it, though, makes it that much nicer — touching, really, in a way S wouldn't quite know how to put into words. He knows how helpful writing in a journal can be for J, having long since grown familiar with that particular habit of his, even before that last diary, the one he still has carefully tucked away where neither of them will stumble upon it without warning. Somehow, he's never given that much thought to using one himself. He had J, and then he had no one, and there was too much he didn't want to let become real. If he tried to spot J on campus, if he called and hoped that J would pick up the phone, then there was still a chance they could get back together. The weight of all that loneliness didn't quite catch up to him until later.

He isn't lonely now, but if he's really honest with himself, there are still things he struggles with sometimes, things he wouldn't want to tell J. It's not keeping secrets, he thinks, when there's no need to share it. There's no one else he's a fraction as open with, though; if there were, he thinks that would make it feel like secrecy to take those matters elsewhere. Having something to do with them, even just putting them down on paper, might not be a bad idea, and being offered that is unexpectedly sweet.

"I won't waste a nice notebook on grocery lists," he promises, leaning over to press a quick kiss to J's cheek. "I don't know what I'll write, but I'll write something."