J stifles a choked out laugh against S's neck, fingers curling tighter in his shirt. It's true, and he's been trying to think how to say something to that effect without negating all he's done in trying to get S to feel okay make decisions when it's needed. Even if he doesn't think the blame here lies as evenly between them as S does, it still helps to hear. They both had a role in this, and as hard as it is to make himself hold onto that fact, it won't do either of them any good to pretend otherwise. S was right, too, that they were both just worrying about each other. J wouldn't have worried in the same way, he's sure, if it weren't for how he behaved in the past, so the fault is still mostly his, but they both have things to learn.
"It's partly my fault," he counters, leaning his head against S's shoulder to meet his eyes — as best as he can, anyway, when his vision is all fuzzy. He blinks again, quick and fluttering, trying to will his eyes to focus. "Mostly. But you were wrong, yes. I... I don't hate it as much anymore, you know. You deciding things. Sometimes I need you to. But... those are different things." Making a grocery list or deciding where to go on the weekend is something entirely separate from deciding how J might feel about a thing, after all — something he needs to take care to remember, too. Sometimes J is too worn out and unfocused to realize he needs to go to bed or eat a meal or take a shower, and he needs, at those times, for S to prompt him gently to take care of himself or to decide what they should eat. "It's different," he adds, having settled on how to put it, "deciding what we should do, not how I feel. It's what a partner does. I shouldn't have assumed for you either."
For his part, he was scared that bringing it up would be worse than not doing so, but he's sure S had the same concern. They thought they were mitigating damage, not causing it. Maybe, in the future, he thinks, they just have to brave the fallout of discussing the things he doesn't want to say. It's just so fucking hard to talk about the past, even when he doesn't go a day without thinking about it.
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"It's partly my fault," he counters, leaning his head against S's shoulder to meet his eyes — as best as he can, anyway, when his vision is all fuzzy. He blinks again, quick and fluttering, trying to will his eyes to focus. "Mostly. But you were wrong, yes. I... I don't hate it as much anymore, you know. You deciding things. Sometimes I need you to. But... those are different things." Making a grocery list or deciding where to go on the weekend is something entirely separate from deciding how J might feel about a thing, after all — something he needs to take care to remember, too. Sometimes J is too worn out and unfocused to realize he needs to go to bed or eat a meal or take a shower, and he needs, at those times, for S to prompt him gently to take care of himself or to decide what they should eat. "It's different," he adds, having settled on how to put it, "deciding what we should do, not how I feel. It's what a partner does. I shouldn't have assumed for you either."
For his part, he was scared that bringing it up would be worse than not doing so, but he's sure S had the same concern. They thought they were mitigating damage, not causing it. Maybe, in the future, he thinks, they just have to brave the fallout of discussing the things he doesn't want to say. It's just so fucking hard to talk about the past, even when he doesn't go a day without thinking about it.