J makes a soft sound into S's shoulder, tipping his head slightly to the side so he can press up against S's hand without pulling away. It feels good to have S comforting him, to be reminded of these things. They should have talked about this, he knows it, much, much sooner, but S is right. They're absolutely idiots, but they have learned.
It's soothing, too, to hear S say with such certainty that J wouldn't have started a fight. He hopes that's true. He'd like to think it is. But he's so fucking aware of how horribly he behaved, unable to escape the fact of it no matter how much time passes, and it's so easy for him to worry. Getting it into his head that S might worry about that, he was unable to shake his own anxiety about the possibility. It's terrifying much of the time, not being sure, not trusting himself, not being able to tell himself for a fact that he's seeing things correctly or that he'll behave the right way. S trusts him when he can't, though. Even if he has trouble making himself remember that, he can hear it now and try to take it to heart.
With a quiet hum of agreement, he tugs gently at S's shirt, giving himself a moment to find his voice. He hasn't started crying in earnest again yet, but he doesn't want to risk it, even if it's likely also inevitable. "We have," he whispers when he can. "We know. I..." He makes himself breathe in deeply, exhale slowly. He should have known better. Turning away from talking about it just because it would hurt to do so was a foolish, cowardly move, and one he makes again and again. "I should have told you. I should know that now. I just get stuck thinking how it's my fault, and I —" He shakes his head, more words caught in his mind that he's not sure he dares blurt out here where they might yet be seen. As haunted as he remains by the crimes he committed, he feels nearly as guilty for the way he treated S, if not equally so. That probably says something awful about him, but he doesn't think there's really anything good that can be said about him based on all that anyway. "It gets so big that I forget how... twisted things get in my mind. I just think it's all true."
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It's soothing, too, to hear S say with such certainty that J wouldn't have started a fight. He hopes that's true. He'd like to think it is. But he's so fucking aware of how horribly he behaved, unable to escape the fact of it no matter how much time passes, and it's so easy for him to worry. Getting it into his head that S might worry about that, he was unable to shake his own anxiety about the possibility. It's terrifying much of the time, not being sure, not trusting himself, not being able to tell himself for a fact that he's seeing things correctly or that he'll behave the right way. S trusts him when he can't, though. Even if he has trouble making himself remember that, he can hear it now and try to take it to heart.
With a quiet hum of agreement, he tugs gently at S's shirt, giving himself a moment to find his voice. He hasn't started crying in earnest again yet, but he doesn't want to risk it, even if it's likely also inevitable. "We have," he whispers when he can. "We know. I..." He makes himself breathe in deeply, exhale slowly. He should have known better. Turning away from talking about it just because it would hurt to do so was a foolish, cowardly move, and one he makes again and again. "I should have told you. I should know that now. I just get stuck thinking how it's my fault, and I —" He shakes his head, more words caught in his mind that he's not sure he dares blurt out here where they might yet be seen. As haunted as he remains by the crimes he committed, he feels nearly as guilty for the way he treated S, if not equally so. That probably says something awful about him, but he doesn't think there's really anything good that can be said about him based on all that anyway. "It gets so big that I forget how... twisted things get in my mind. I just think it's all true."