All of these are things that S knows, of course. If anything, saying that a lot has changed is putting it mildly. Everything about that day was heightened and hazy, all the emotions of it extreme, snapping from one to another so fast it made his head spin. The year and a half or so since then has had plenty of ups and downs, but it's also been a remarkably stable time, all things considered. Their relationship is, he thinks, better than it's ever been. Of course, there's probably something deeply ironic about considering that when he's in a state of panic and can barely catch his breath for crying, alternating between fear and guilt, each making the other worse, but it's still true. So much has changed. That moment, though, and the sheer, sickening terror he felt, they still happened. There's no undoing them. As much as it's hurt to consider, he can't even be upset with J for reacting to him that way. It's horrible, and he shouldn't have to see it. Neither of them will ever forget that last night, but that doesn't mean J should have to deal with such a stark, present reminder of it, something tethering them to the worst night they shared.
He said the same thing later, too, after all. It was still that same dizzying afternoon, but S remembers too when they finally went to bed together, how J said when they were still discussing it that he didn't think he could see that. S decided then that he should never have to. The way he sees it, he doesn't get to be the one to change that, anyway. That decision is J's, something to be done at his prompting only, and nothing that S would want to be done for his sake, no matter how wrecked he might feel now. It isn't as if it's just that causing this flood of emotions, after all. Being reminded of how he felt then, having upset J by going about this all wrong, seeing no reasonable path to take, knowing that time and again he fucks this up, no matter how hard he tries — all of it leaves him a trembling, miserable mess, entirely at a loss for words.
"I know that," he manages to mumble after a moment, if only because he can't just say nothing. He even turns his head just enough to steal a glance over at J, though it's short-lived, face burying in his knees again just a moment later. However obvious he thinks that much should be, though, and however incapable he feels of articulating the rest, it feels important to be clear on that front. The very last thing he needs now, when he's gotten this so wrong as it is, would be to make J think that he doesn't see them as having moved on past that night at all. Given his own track record, it seems far too likely. "But that doesn't mean —"
He cuts himself off, eyes shut tight as he shakes his head. Even now that J understands what he meant in the first place, he still doesn't know how to explain himself, and it still feels like the damage is done. Had he known it would seem so significant, he probably would have tried to find a way to carefully bring it up before now, but he would have been terrified of doing so. There's no way to win here, nothing that doesn't just end with them both hurt.
no subject
He said the same thing later, too, after all. It was still that same dizzying afternoon, but S remembers too when they finally went to bed together, how J said when they were still discussing it that he didn't think he could see that. S decided then that he should never have to. The way he sees it, he doesn't get to be the one to change that, anyway. That decision is J's, something to be done at his prompting only, and nothing that S would want to be done for his sake, no matter how wrecked he might feel now. It isn't as if it's just that causing this flood of emotions, after all. Being reminded of how he felt then, having upset J by going about this all wrong, seeing no reasonable path to take, knowing that time and again he fucks this up, no matter how hard he tries — all of it leaves him a trembling, miserable mess, entirely at a loss for words.
"I know that," he manages to mumble after a moment, if only because he can't just say nothing. He even turns his head just enough to steal a glance over at J, though it's short-lived, face burying in his knees again just a moment later. However obvious he thinks that much should be, though, and however incapable he feels of articulating the rest, it feels important to be clear on that front. The very last thing he needs now, when he's gotten this so wrong as it is, would be to make J think that he doesn't see them as having moved on past that night at all. Given his own track record, it seems far too likely. "But that doesn't mean —"
He cuts himself off, eyes shut tight as he shakes his head. Even now that J understands what he meant in the first place, he still doesn't know how to explain himself, and it still feels like the damage is done. Had he known it would seem so significant, he probably would have tried to find a way to carefully bring it up before now, but he would have been terrified of doing so. There's no way to win here, nothing that doesn't just end with them both hurt.