J can't, however much he wishes he could, control the way he trembles, jaw shaking slightly, eyes wide, heart aching. He doesn't know why that affects him so much, why it means so much, not off the top of his head. He only knows that it does. After all they've gone through together, after all he did to them, it matters deeply.
He can't hide that. For a long time, he tried once again to bury his emotions, afraid to let himself be so vulnerable, even with S. Even when he first came here, his passionate outbursts weren't motivated so much by openness as an inability to keep things in when he was hurting so terribly. He doesn't want to hide things anymore, though, not from S. He hasn't wanted to in a long time, except when he's done stupid things like keep his feelings on this matter to himself, thinking he was helping them. Maybe that's what it is. He spent so long doing anything but supporting S. Then, here, he's tried to be there for him, but sometimes he feels like it's backfired or he simply hasn't been very good at it, too exhausted or emotional or lost in his own head to be as present as he wants to be. And it's not like it surprises him that S sees it all the same, but there's such an overwhelming sense of relief at knowing he does.
"I know," he murmurs, nodding. He draws in a sharp, shaky breath, sniffling quietly, and shakes his head. "I'm glad you know." Taking a moment, he closes his eyes tight, nose wrinkling up in an expression at once frustrated and resigned. "Ah, can't I talk about anything important without crying? I'm just glad, darling. I really did think I — ah, I don't know, I thought it was another thing I broke. And I hoped it was enough, but I didn't know. I feel like I'm not good at it anymore. There's too much in my head for me to be very supportive. I'm glad I am anyway."
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He can't hide that. For a long time, he tried once again to bury his emotions, afraid to let himself be so vulnerable, even with S. Even when he first came here, his passionate outbursts weren't motivated so much by openness as an inability to keep things in when he was hurting so terribly. He doesn't want to hide things anymore, though, not from S. He hasn't wanted to in a long time, except when he's done stupid things like keep his feelings on this matter to himself, thinking he was helping them. Maybe that's what it is. He spent so long doing anything but supporting S. Then, here, he's tried to be there for him, but sometimes he feels like it's backfired or he simply hasn't been very good at it, too exhausted or emotional or lost in his own head to be as present as he wants to be. And it's not like it surprises him that S sees it all the same, but there's such an overwhelming sense of relief at knowing he does.
"I know," he murmurs, nodding. He draws in a sharp, shaky breath, sniffling quietly, and shakes his head. "I'm glad you know." Taking a moment, he closes his eyes tight, nose wrinkling up in an expression at once frustrated and resigned. "Ah, can't I talk about anything important without crying? I'm just glad, darling. I really did think I — ah, I don't know, I thought it was another thing I broke. And I hoped it was enough, but I didn't know. I feel like I'm not good at it anymore. There's too much in my head for me to be very supportive. I'm glad I am anyway."