He had no one else to talk to, either. S thinks about that sometimes — how lonely he was before, J, even without fully realizing it at the time. He wasn't made an outcast like J was, after all, and got along well enough with their classmates, if only in passing. None of them were friends, people he could open up to. He didn't really even know what that was, what he was missing, until he had it. Finding J changed everything. So, for that matter, did getting J back. He may have had no one else to talk to before J knew him, but he had no one to talk to when J was gone, either. The thought makes him want to curl close again, maybe rest his head in J's lap for a while, not unpleasant, just a little bittersweet.

Instead, he focuses on what J has said, how quietly amusing it is. Gift-wrapping bottles of chemicals seemed a little strange, difficult to pass off as presents; as a middle ground, he's put them all in a gift bag, tissue paper bundled around them, as neat as he can manage. "Chemicals in a dark room somewhere," he confirms, a little wry, reaching for the bag and pushing it over to J. Slightly silly as it may feel, he wanted to make sure J would have everything he'd need to get started, that it wouldn't be work, or something he would have to spend money on, right off the bat. "I don't know much about it, either, I just got what the woman at the store told me someone would need to get started, but we'll find a good space for you to use."

He would offer to help J figure it out, but he thinks it's better if he doesn't. The part he hasn't mentioned is that he wants J to have something that's his, nothing with any competition or sense of being behind. That has to at least help.