Once S's arm is around him, J lets go of his hand, wrapping his arms around S's waist. It helps, being held, having that closeness. It leaves him feeling a little more raw, as if it's harder to hold the feelings back when he's being comforted, but even so, it feels better, safer, than the alternative. The slow movement of S's hand down his back steadies J's breathing, and though he could easily protest what S first says, he doesn't. He just needs a moment like this, quiet, aware of how loved he is.

It stings, though, when S speaks again, a sharp pang in J's chest as he starts to shake his head. He doesn't look up. He's not entirely sure how to make himself move the way he wants to, his body feeling not quite in his control sometimes when he gets like this. "No, no," he says quickly. Once he does, though, he's not sure if it's true or not. It did upset him to hear, after all, but it's more complicated than that. "I..."

He sucks in a sharp breath, trying to figure out how to say this, how to make himself say it. It feels so pointlessly selfish. Or it did. That feeling lingers, but it seems less important than making sure S knows this isn't like before. He's not angry, he's not jealous. He's just sad. "It's not the same," he says. "Fuck, I feel so stupid." There's no way he can say anything now without making both of them feel terrible. Just fumbling for the words leaves him feeling like his throat is growing too tight. "It's not the playing, it's the stopping. Which is fine, I understand, it's okay. It's — I get it, I do."

They can't ever have the past back. That's fine too, but this one part mattered so much for so long, it's hard to let it go, harder still because he's the one who ruined it. "I can handle it," he murmurs. "I will." There's no alternative to that, really. Still, that doesn't keep him from having to close his eyes tight, trying to keep himself from crying.