There's so much affection and warmth in S's voice and that gentle kiss that it threatens to overwhelm J again. It's nothing new, all that tenderness, but that's perhaps precisely why. They've shared half their lives now and more; they'll share the rest of it, too, and that love doesn't dim, no matter what they throw at it. If anything, it shines brighter now for all they've put it through.
He tries to laugh at S's question, and it comes out small and broken, almost a whimper, which is so ridiculous that it does make him laugh a little. Clinging to S still, he shakes his head. He should try to dry his own eyes, he knows, but he doesn't want to let go even that much or that briefly, not yet. "I started it," he says, not so much a self-accusation as an explanation. "You always cry if I do." He huffs out another laugh, wrinkling up his nose at himself. "And I always cry if you do." It's absurd, really, but he can't help it and neither can S. They're too closely intertwined.
Resolving to do better isn't enough. He's done it countless times now, after all, and they still end up in messes like this. It's a start, though, and how they also get out of these messes, so he does so again. One of these days, he thinks, it might actually stick. He's made so much progress this last year, even if he frequently feels like he's sliding backwards, and he knows that it's due to S. Of course, J knows, he's the one who had to push and work and put in the effort, and he's the one who'll have to keep doing so. The truth is, though, he doesn't know if he could have done it solely for his own good. He'd thought himself too much of a lost cause. But for S, he could do anything.
Still sniffling, still clinging to S one-handed, he lifts the other at last to swipe away the lingering tears. "I love you. Anyway, we're both messes."
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He tries to laugh at S's question, and it comes out small and broken, almost a whimper, which is so ridiculous that it does make him laugh a little. Clinging to S still, he shakes his head. He should try to dry his own eyes, he knows, but he doesn't want to let go even that much or that briefly, not yet. "I started it," he says, not so much a self-accusation as an explanation. "You always cry if I do." He huffs out another laugh, wrinkling up his nose at himself. "And I always cry if you do." It's absurd, really, but he can't help it and neither can S. They're too closely intertwined.
Resolving to do better isn't enough. He's done it countless times now, after all, and they still end up in messes like this. It's a start, though, and how they also get out of these messes, so he does so again. One of these days, he thinks, it might actually stick. He's made so much progress this last year, even if he frequently feels like he's sliding backwards, and he knows that it's due to S. Of course, J knows, he's the one who had to push and work and put in the effort, and he's the one who'll have to keep doing so. The truth is, though, he doesn't know if he could have done it solely for his own good. He'd thought himself too much of a lost cause. But for S, he could do anything.
Still sniffling, still clinging to S one-handed, he lifts the other at last to swipe away the lingering tears. "I love you. Anyway, we're both messes."