There's so much he's done, J thinks, so much he got wrong. Most of it happened well before today, but even this, he's fucking up. He can't make S understand that without saying more, though, and if he says more, he really will start crying, something he refuses to do when someone else is here. It's already difficult not to, seeing the worry in S's expression, seeing him take that step nearer to J. All he wants is to close this distance and let S hold him, let him soothe this down to something bearable like only he can, but that, too, would first involve tears.

Instead he nods quickly, pushing through the sense of being frozen, making himself take a step closer, too. When he can't find the right words, when he's afraid to say them when someone else could hear, this is the only way he has to show S he means what he's saying. This isn't S's fault, not even close. And he's trying, he knows he's trying to do his best here, to communicate as much as he can make himself now that he sees his mistake, but that doesn't make J feel any less guilty for feeling like this at all. He takes a slow, shaky breath, steadying himself as best he can while S takes care of this.

"Will she come this way?" he asks after a moment. If so, he needs to duck behind a shelf or something, hide his face. He doesn't want to make S's job complicated, too, and lead S's coworker to ask questions or gossip.