Normally, S thinks, he would be the one saying that — that they make a mess of a lot of things, that they're figuring it all out. It's not as if he thinks J is wrong, anyway. Everything just feels so heavy right now, and like it's all on him. He's the one who kept something from J, even if it really wasn't something he thought would matter all that much, he's the one whose body bears such a permanent reminder of what happened that night, he's the one who's falling apart now when, once again, he meant to be trying to make J feel better, not needing to be comforted himself. It doesn't seem fair, but the thought of it does nothing to stop him from crying, punctuated by occasional little sniffles, head resting against his knees again. At least it helps to have J hold him like this, when part of what set him off, however irrationally, was the distance between them and feeling like he didn't get to close it. There isn't much he can do from here, but he holds onto J's shirt and leans into his chest, and, fuck, at least it's something.
"You didn't snap, really," he says, having the sense enough not to say what threatens to follow, that he deserved it anyway. He knows that just the idea of his possibly thinking that has upset J before, and while, in this case, it seems true, he's fucked this up enough without making it worse now. "I wasn't looking at it like... like hiding something from you." He doesn't know what he would have done if he'd considered it that way. As much as he likes to think he would have said something, he still can't be entirely sure of it, given the rest. If nothing else, he might have been a little more careful not to just blurt it out. Then he might have had a chance to tell J on his own terms, to bring it up in a way that could hopefully minimize the damage he's just done. Maybe that way, J wouldn't have to think about that time before and how hard it was on him.
Even that doesn't seem fair, in a way. J is the one who was actively suicidal; S shouldn't be the one so shaken by that memory now. He was then far more so than he is now. That moment, he's pretty sure, was the most scared he'd ever been in his life, and that's saying something. It's probably all sorts of screwed up, too, that he was more frightened by the prospect of losing J — again — than he was in those few instants he thought he was dying, but it's true, and he can't change the fact of it.
"I think about it," he mumbles, simply because it must be very, very obvious now. "That day. Before. Not — not like you might... now, but..." He shouldn't have brought any of this up. He shouldn't be laying this on J. It's too late, though, to take it back. "I'm okay, though. I promise I'd say if I wasn't."
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"You didn't snap, really," he says, having the sense enough not to say what threatens to follow, that he deserved it anyway. He knows that just the idea of his possibly thinking that has upset J before, and while, in this case, it seems true, he's fucked this up enough without making it worse now. "I wasn't looking at it like... like hiding something from you." He doesn't know what he would have done if he'd considered it that way. As much as he likes to think he would have said something, he still can't be entirely sure of it, given the rest. If nothing else, he might have been a little more careful not to just blurt it out. Then he might have had a chance to tell J on his own terms, to bring it up in a way that could hopefully minimize the damage he's just done. Maybe that way, J wouldn't have to think about that time before and how hard it was on him.
Even that doesn't seem fair, in a way. J is the one who was actively suicidal; S shouldn't be the one so shaken by that memory now. He was then far more so than he is now. That moment, he's pretty sure, was the most scared he'd ever been in his life, and that's saying something. It's probably all sorts of screwed up, too, that he was more frightened by the prospect of losing J — again — than he was in those few instants he thought he was dying, but it's true, and he can't change the fact of it.
"I think about it," he mumbles, simply because it must be very, very obvious now. "That day. Before. Not — not like you might... now, but..." He shouldn't have brought any of this up. He shouldn't be laying this on J. It's too late, though, to take it back. "I'm okay, though. I promise I'd say if I wasn't."