It's a relief and an embarrassment all at once when S asks that. J is worried that, given a few moments more, he might have burst into tears, pushed over the edge by a gratitude that's utterly overwhelming.
He didn't know. He spent so long so miserable, and he doesn't think there was very much he could have done to change that. There were things he should have done that he didn't know how to do, that he's since learned, but he doesn't know if he could have done so if it weren't for all that's happened. Being able to talk to S again, to be open with him, to feel loved and supported, that's changed more than he can put into words, but he didn't know how to do that before. And it wasn't S's fault and he's not even entirely certain it's his own, not completely. He just didn't know how to fight it. He still doesn't in a lot of ways. This part, the communication, he only figured out through desperation and that same sense of crushing relief at being welcomed back with open arms exactly as he is. He's not sure what could have gotten him to that point without everything crashing down like it did. And it's horrible, he'll always feel horrible, for everything that happened and all he did, but he doesn't know if there was any way through but out. He didn't know he could be happy. He didn't know he could bring anything good into the world. But somehow, somehow, he's here and he's loved and he's made S happy, and he's so grateful that his throat hurts.
He swallows hard against, nose wrinkling up as he lets out a choked laugh. "Ah, why?" he asks. "It's silly." Still, he points toward where it sits, still tucked under the tree, a little bundle of lumpy paper concealing a small plush cat, black and white with little shiny green eyes. He feels a bit absurd about this one, given how thoughtful S was and how lovely all the presents he received were. It's just a ridiculous toy. But it's there and he bothered to wrap it, so he's not going to hide it now. "But yes. One more."
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He didn't know. He spent so long so miserable, and he doesn't think there was very much he could have done to change that. There were things he should have done that he didn't know how to do, that he's since learned, but he doesn't know if he could have done so if it weren't for all that's happened. Being able to talk to S again, to be open with him, to feel loved and supported, that's changed more than he can put into words, but he didn't know how to do that before. And it wasn't S's fault and he's not even entirely certain it's his own, not completely. He just didn't know how to fight it. He still doesn't in a lot of ways. This part, the communication, he only figured out through desperation and that same sense of crushing relief at being welcomed back with open arms exactly as he is. He's not sure what could have gotten him to that point without everything crashing down like it did. And it's horrible, he'll always feel horrible, for everything that happened and all he did, but he doesn't know if there was any way through but out. He didn't know he could be happy. He didn't know he could bring anything good into the world. But somehow, somehow, he's here and he's loved and he's made S happy, and he's so grateful that his throat hurts.
He swallows hard against, nose wrinkling up as he lets out a choked laugh. "Ah, why?" he asks. "It's silly." Still, he points toward where it sits, still tucked under the tree, a little bundle of lumpy paper concealing a small plush cat, black and white with little shiny green eyes. He feels a bit absurd about this one, given how thoughtful S was and how lovely all the presents he received were. It's just a ridiculous toy. But it's there and he bothered to wrap it, so he's not going to hide it now. "But yes. One more."