While he knows it can't be J's intention at all, S only feels worse hearing that, the uncertainty in if you want to nearly enough to make him fall apart all over again. He manages not to mostly because he's just too exhausted for that, and there are still tears streaming down his cheeks anyway. It's embarrassing, really. Nothing even happened to warrant all of this, or at least it feels that way when he didn't realize before now that he was having such a hard time. What J says only increases the guilt he feels, though, enough that it's hard for a moment to speak, or to process that last comment J makes.
It shouldn't be a question. There shouldn't be any doubt in it. S is at least pretty sure, though it's hard sometimes to be certain if he's remembering the past accurately or not, that there was a time when it would have gone without saying, and it feels like his own fault that it apparently doesn't anymore. He still doesn't have the first idea what he would have done instead, having been too convinced that he shouldn't bring it up, that it would only hurt J for him to do so, but evidently he chose wrong, and has done far too much damage in the process. Always it seems to come back to this for him, and he's sick of it.
"Of course I want to," he says, his voice tiny and faltering and sad, deeply apologetic. "I hated feeling like I couldn't talk about it. I really didn't think you'd want to hear it. Didn't want to... to pressure you." When the subject never came up again, he just assumed J wasn't ready, that maybe he never would be, and even with how much it stung, S was fine with the idea of that. He hated it, but he was fine with it, not wanting to risk what the alternative might be. The whole thing was all wrong, though, and he has no idea now how to fix it, or how to explain himself when he can barely manage to catch his breath. At least J is here, holding onto him, so it can't be as bad as it was earlier, his fingers still clutching at J's arm in turn, but if J doesn't know that he would want to talk to him, then it still can't be very good, either.
Head resting against his knees again, he tries to take a few deeper breaths, though he doesn't quite succeed, his chest too tight. He still doesn't know what to say, but it is, at least, in that lull that J's last remark finally has a chance to sink in, his frown deepening a little. He's not sure what difference it actually makes, but it seems to for J, and that's enough to make it significant. "What, did you think that was you, too?"
no subject
It shouldn't be a question. There shouldn't be any doubt in it. S is at least pretty sure, though it's hard sometimes to be certain if he's remembering the past accurately or not, that there was a time when it would have gone without saying, and it feels like his own fault that it apparently doesn't anymore. He still doesn't have the first idea what he would have done instead, having been too convinced that he shouldn't bring it up, that it would only hurt J for him to do so, but evidently he chose wrong, and has done far too much damage in the process. Always it seems to come back to this for him, and he's sick of it.
"Of course I want to," he says, his voice tiny and faltering and sad, deeply apologetic. "I hated feeling like I couldn't talk about it. I really didn't think you'd want to hear it. Didn't want to... to pressure you." When the subject never came up again, he just assumed J wasn't ready, that maybe he never would be, and even with how much it stung, S was fine with the idea of that. He hated it, but he was fine with it, not wanting to risk what the alternative might be. The whole thing was all wrong, though, and he has no idea now how to fix it, or how to explain himself when he can barely manage to catch his breath. At least J is here, holding onto him, so it can't be as bad as it was earlier, his fingers still clutching at J's arm in turn, but if J doesn't know that he would want to talk to him, then it still can't be very good, either.
Head resting against his knees again, he tries to take a few deeper breaths, though he doesn't quite succeed, his chest too tight. He still doesn't know what to say, but it is, at least, in that lull that J's last remark finally has a chance to sink in, his frown deepening a little. He's not sure what difference it actually makes, but it seems to for J, and that's enough to make it significant. "What, did you think that was you, too?"