As tense and tired as he feels right now, J thinks this must be firm proof of just how much he really has grown and improved since he came here. Before he left — even in the weeks after he arrived, for that matter — he thinks he probably would have snapped out a reply by now, stupid and thoughtless and probably only partly meant. That S doesn't get that the support he gives is about more than just what is strictly needed is so frustratingly him that J wants to shake him for it, even as he wishes he could make himself stop holding onto his clothes so intensely and reach out for S instead.
But he doesn't lash out and he doesn't retort. He doesn't pull his hand from his heart or his nails from his palm either, but he's quiet, shaky as he listens, waits for S to say what he's going to say. Tucked in on himself as he is, his words are muffled, and J wonders distantly if he's always like this, too, if trying to hear him get his words out is difficult as much because he's talking into his fucking legs as anything else. It probably is. It's S's patience he has for a model here, his willingness to wait that J tries to emulate now.
S's words send a little jolt through him, indignation followed by a shiver of cold he doesn't fully understand. "I'm looking at you right now," he points out, not quite able to keep himself from responding this time. It's a very stupid impulse, he knows that. S is so frighteningly vulnerable right now, and J, all instinct, only barely manages to curb the bite of his words. Maybe S can't tell because he can't see J right now either. Except J knows that's not it, that it has to be more than that. S doesn't get this worked up just because they're in a huff with each other. As upset as J has been the last several minutes, it's not like it's odd for him to need time not to meet S's eyes, to focus on calming himself.
His calm isn't the important thing in this moment, he tells himself. He won't feel settled as long as S is unhappy like this, too. He started this, so he's got to put it right. Granted, the best he can make himself do just yet is lean against the back of the couch, pushing his hand from his leg forward, fingers twisting in the hem of S's pants instead of his own. "I'm looking at you," he says again, gentler now, though his voice is a little unsteady. "I look at you all the time. I can't stop looking at you, darling. Talk to me. Please."
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But he doesn't lash out and he doesn't retort. He doesn't pull his hand from his heart or his nails from his palm either, but he's quiet, shaky as he listens, waits for S to say what he's going to say. Tucked in on himself as he is, his words are muffled, and J wonders distantly if he's always like this, too, if trying to hear him get his words out is difficult as much because he's talking into his fucking legs as anything else. It probably is. It's S's patience he has for a model here, his willingness to wait that J tries to emulate now.
S's words send a little jolt through him, indignation followed by a shiver of cold he doesn't fully understand. "I'm looking at you right now," he points out, not quite able to keep himself from responding this time. It's a very stupid impulse, he knows that. S is so frighteningly vulnerable right now, and J, all instinct, only barely manages to curb the bite of his words. Maybe S can't tell because he can't see J right now either. Except J knows that's not it, that it has to be more than that. S doesn't get this worked up just because they're in a huff with each other. As upset as J has been the last several minutes, it's not like it's odd for him to need time not to meet S's eyes, to focus on calming himself.
His calm isn't the important thing in this moment, he tells himself. He won't feel settled as long as S is unhappy like this, too. He started this, so he's got to put it right. Granted, the best he can make himself do just yet is lean against the back of the couch, pushing his hand from his leg forward, fingers twisting in the hem of S's pants instead of his own. "I'm looking at you," he says again, gentler now, though his voice is a little unsteady. "I look at you all the time. I can't stop looking at you, darling. Talk to me. Please."