S instinctively shakes his head, though it's not much of a movement when he doesn't want to pull away or put any distance between them. He knows, because they've talked about it at length, that J came to believe a lot of things that weren't true back then. To him, though, this one is the most unfathomable, and the most heartbreaking. Even now, a year later and having been told otherwise, it's hard not to wonder what he got so wrong for J to think he could ever lose this. After the painful mess that everything was before, after J attempting to kill him, after he did kill others, S is still here, and he wouldn't have considered being anywhere else. Back then, of course, he didn't have the first idea what was ahead of them, but in not being able to imagine it, he would have said the same thing he'd say now — that J could never lose him, that there's nothing that could change his mind.
"You never lost me," he murmurs, because he can't say nothing. Lifting their entwined hands, he brushes a kiss against J's knuckles, absent and tender. "You never could." After J left, he was still there, still waiting, still his. Maybe it was pathetic of him, but he never had it in him to give up or walk away. On the contrary, he thought he lost this. He knew without a doubt that he did, those last few months before he got here, facing down an existence without J in it at all. Like J has just said, he thought it was forever, too. He could never be half as relieved to be wrong about anything else as he is to have been wrong about that, and he's been wrong about so much. "There was a lot I didn't see, either."
On some level, he knows that he couldn't have. All he could do was work with what J was willing to tell him, to show him, and they weren't talking back then like they are now. When he knows that's part of what's made this past year so good, their relationship stronger than it's ever been, he feels stupid all over again for not having said what was on his mind about piano, but he can't fix that now. There's nothing left to do but be glad it's out in the open at last, no matter how much crying it might have involved. "At least we're smarter now. Still very stupid, but smarter than we were then."
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"You never lost me," he murmurs, because he can't say nothing. Lifting their entwined hands, he brushes a kiss against J's knuckles, absent and tender. "You never could." After J left, he was still there, still waiting, still his. Maybe it was pathetic of him, but he never had it in him to give up or walk away. On the contrary, he thought he lost this. He knew without a doubt that he did, those last few months before he got here, facing down an existence without J in it at all. Like J has just said, he thought it was forever, too. He could never be half as relieved to be wrong about anything else as he is to have been wrong about that, and he's been wrong about so much. "There was a lot I didn't see, either."
On some level, he knows that he couldn't have. All he could do was work with what J was willing to tell him, to show him, and they weren't talking back then like they are now. When he knows that's part of what's made this past year so good, their relationship stronger than it's ever been, he feels stupid all over again for not having said what was on his mind about piano, but he can't fix that now. There's nothing left to do but be glad it's out in the open at last, no matter how much crying it might have involved. "At least we're smarter now. Still very stupid, but smarter than we were then."