J has to bite his lip to hold back a sound, an odd, giddy thing twisting in his throat, inappropriately amused. Surgery. Fucking surgery. He has no way of knowing how much of what he saw was caused by that, but he hadn't considered the possibility that any of it might have been. He'd assumed he'd snapped even more wholly than he'd believed, shocked by the extent of his cruelty in a way he probably shouldn't have been, given all he did before and after he grabbed that knife. Being confronted with the whole of it so suddenly, though, and on that scale, had been too much, and of course, of fucking course, the lingering hurt of it was based partly on his imagination.
It doesn't make it less awful, not really. The scars were there because of what he did, whether he left them behind or doctors did. Still, there's something soothing about the notion that they weren't all of his making — or, rather, that they were, both the scars he left with his own knife and the ones left by the doctors who saved S, the ones he managed to get S to just in time. Proof, he said a little while ago, that S lived.
Before he can think to explain this or even how to start, though, he focuses in on S again, drawn back to the present by the way S shakes a little, breath rippling through him. Half-formed thoughts and feelings, his own whirling reaction to this idea, they can wait. This is much more important, a spark of hope and relief. After this, it would be impossible for him not to wonder and worry about what S might keep from out of his idea of what's best for J or some sense he shouldn't share. But maybe they can put this right.
"I want to try," he says, soft but fervent — so much so that tears prick at his eyes, surprising him a little. It's always hurt, though, those times when he's had to watch S ache and not be able to do anything about it. To have any chance to make things a little better is a relief. "And even if I can't, I... I want to be here for you. To talk to, to tell things. If you want to." He huffs, shaking his head, unable to help coming back to it. "I didn't even think of surgery." He didn't know it left marks like that behind, for that matter. He's never had a surgery, rarely even been to the doctor. It makes obvious sense if he thinks about it for even a moment, but he just never did. That first moment of shock froze an idea in place in his mind, and he never questioned it.
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It doesn't make it less awful, not really. The scars were there because of what he did, whether he left them behind or doctors did. Still, there's something soothing about the notion that they weren't all of his making — or, rather, that they were, both the scars he left with his own knife and the ones left by the doctors who saved S, the ones he managed to get S to just in time. Proof, he said a little while ago, that S lived.
Before he can think to explain this or even how to start, though, he focuses in on S again, drawn back to the present by the way S shakes a little, breath rippling through him. Half-formed thoughts and feelings, his own whirling reaction to this idea, they can wait. This is much more important, a spark of hope and relief. After this, it would be impossible for him not to wonder and worry about what S might keep from out of his idea of what's best for J or some sense he shouldn't share. But maybe they can put this right.
"I want to try," he says, soft but fervent — so much so that tears prick at his eyes, surprising him a little. It's always hurt, though, those times when he's had to watch S ache and not be able to do anything about it. To have any chance to make things a little better is a relief. "And even if I can't, I... I want to be here for you. To talk to, to tell things. If you want to." He huffs, shaking his head, unable to help coming back to it. "I didn't even think of surgery." He didn't know it left marks like that behind, for that matter. He's never had a surgery, rarely even been to the doctor. It makes obvious sense if he thinks about it for even a moment, but he just never did. That first moment of shock froze an idea in place in his mind, and he never questioned it.