J worries at his lower lip, torn, not yet processing what S is saying. Instead he weighs his options — the desire to move closer, to wrap himself around S when he can see his boyfriend getting smaller, sadder, against the certainty that if he does so he'll give in. He doesn't want to think of it like that, like this is a battle to be won. He's tried hard not to let himself be that person anymore, the one who gets in useless fights and refuses to back down. There are times when being that stubborn is wrong, even when he's right. But this matters too much for him just to let it go. Maybe he won't convince S to open up to him about this, but he doesn't want to pretend he's okay with this either.
It's not like they have to go into detail. He can understand S not wanting to discuss that, not least with J being the reason he had to get surgery. He just doesn't see how S can't understand how it feels to be left in the dark, not given any opportunity to help him, when J knows he made S feel the same fucking way for so long.
"I'm not going anywhere," he protests. Nails digging into his palm, he forces himself to breathe deep, jaw clenched tight as if it might help balance him out. It's hard to make himself move. As horrible as he feels, it seems safer, too, to some voiceless part of his mind, if he stays curled up and tucked close in on himself. But S is practically shrinking and J has enough sense left in his head to know that he very much doesn't seem like he's here. There's not that much space between them now, but it's too much even so. Sucking in another sharp breath through gritted teeth, he maneuvers himself sideways to better face S. He tucks his legs up under him, pulls himself inward even as he leans closer. He wants to be close, even if he can't yet reach out, one hand curling tight in his pants, trembling from the harshness of his grasp and the rising nervousness dancing through him. The other he keeps at his chest, pressed hard to try and calm his frantic heart. It's worth the effort. He wants S to see him. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving again. I love you, Sihyun-ah... Please... I'm sorry. It's why I'm upset. I want to support you like you do for me, and it just..."
Again he bites his lip, trying to fight back the urge to start crying again in earnest. "I worry that I can't," he says, "and now..." This, S keeping him out, it feels like proof of that. Even though he very much doubts that's how S thinks of it, he can't help his instinctive response to the idea of S bearing something like this alone. No matter how routine this may be, no matter how fine S might be — if anything, it's harder not to be permitted to be part of something so simple. It's his own fault, he knows that, and he knows how volatile he can be about that, but S could at least have asked him if he felt he could handle that or if it was better not to discuss it. They've talked so much about that now, the need to open up. There have been too many misunderstandings born of silence between them.
"Moving is hard," he adds after a moment, cheeks flushing further at that, embarrassed more by this than the tears. They've cried in front of each other far too much for that to be a real issue now, but it feels shameful not to be able to make his own body do what he wants of it.
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It's not like they have to go into detail. He can understand S not wanting to discuss that, not least with J being the reason he had to get surgery. He just doesn't see how S can't understand how it feels to be left in the dark, not given any opportunity to help him, when J knows he made S feel the same fucking way for so long.
"I'm not going anywhere," he protests. Nails digging into his palm, he forces himself to breathe deep, jaw clenched tight as if it might help balance him out. It's hard to make himself move. As horrible as he feels, it seems safer, too, to some voiceless part of his mind, if he stays curled up and tucked close in on himself. But S is practically shrinking and J has enough sense left in his head to know that he very much doesn't seem like he's here. There's not that much space between them now, but it's too much even so. Sucking in another sharp breath through gritted teeth, he maneuvers himself sideways to better face S. He tucks his legs up under him, pulls himself inward even as he leans closer. He wants to be close, even if he can't yet reach out, one hand curling tight in his pants, trembling from the harshness of his grasp and the rising nervousness dancing through him. The other he keeps at his chest, pressed hard to try and calm his frantic heart. It's worth the effort. He wants S to see him. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving again. I love you, Sihyun-ah... Please... I'm sorry. It's why I'm upset. I want to support you like you do for me, and it just..."
Again he bites his lip, trying to fight back the urge to start crying again in earnest. "I worry that I can't," he says, "and now..." This, S keeping him out, it feels like proof of that. Even though he very much doubts that's how S thinks of it, he can't help his instinctive response to the idea of S bearing something like this alone. No matter how routine this may be, no matter how fine S might be — if anything, it's harder not to be permitted to be part of something so simple. It's his own fault, he knows that, and he knows how volatile he can be about that, but S could at least have asked him if he felt he could handle that or if it was better not to discuss it. They've talked so much about that now, the need to open up. There have been too many misunderstandings born of silence between them.
"Moving is hard," he adds after a moment, cheeks flushing further at that, embarrassed more by this than the tears. They've cried in front of each other far too much for that to be a real issue now, but it feels shameful not to be able to make his own body do what he wants of it.