Put like that, at least, S can almost understand it. He's said the same thing to J before, or close enough to it. This still seems different, but he tries to tell himself that it isn't, not really, not in any substantial way. He's seen the very worst parts of J, and still he accepts all of it and wants to be here; faded though they are, he's learned to live with the scars on J's arm, even if it turns his stomach to think too hard about them. Even now, he wants to insist that it's different — J put those scars there himself, so it isn't on S to decide it's too much for him, and more than anything, they make him sad for J's sake — but the semantics aren't as important as the principle of the thing. He wants every part of being with J. He's known that for a long, long time now. So if J thinks he can handle it after all, it wouldn't be right to deny him the chance to figure it out. If it doesn't go well, at least they'll know, and hopefully it won't be as bad as it was last time.

The thought alone makes his breath catch, but he nods, slight, just enough to be visible, still leaning into J. This is what he wished he'd had then, J with his arms around him, helping him to weather that storm. Though the damage has healed, even with the scars visible still, maybe he can actually get a little of that now. Of course, the thought of that feels horribly selfish, a burden he shouldn't lay on J's shoulders, but that doesn't mean they can't find some middle ground. Even having been so sure that it was the right thing simply to keep this subject buried, it's been hard at times, not being able to talk about it at all, especially with the person closest to him, the one he's spent so long telling just about everything.

"Okay," he murmurs, almost inaudibly quiet, still sounding fairly miserable. He means it, though, holding onto J as if to try to convey as much, curled up small in his arms. "If you think so, then... okay."