J wants to argue, but he can't. Of course S worried he wouldn't want to hear it. It's not as if he doesn't have perfectly good reason to believe that. It just hurts, knowing S damaged himself in favor of protecting J from himself.
He hesitates, something twitching in his cheek, at S's question. "Of course," he murmurs, heat rising along his neck. It's fucking stupid. He's had a long time to grow accustomed to the fact of what he did, far longer than he would have imagined possible, and sometimes he can talk about it without falling apart. Right now, though, the trade off for not breaking down is the awful sense of shame heating his skin. "I — of course I did." He didn't have any other way to frame the scars in his mind. All of them, as far as he knew, had to be at his hand. Though he knows he snapped that night, he didn't realize it was quite that bad — the stabbing part, at least — but he didn't know how else to see it, and his memories of that night are too blurred in places for him to feel entirely confident in any of it.
He lets out a short, sharp exhale and shakes his head. "Sihyun-ah... I want to hear it," he says, because he doesn't want to get sidetracked before he says the important part sticking in his head. "Even the things I won't like or that will upset me. And... and you were right. I wouldn't have been able to then. But I — I can. And you can, you can talk to me, I swear. I don't — ah, it's the worst feeling, to have it in your head and your heart and never be able to say it. I don't want that for you." Even if it's a different kind of awful from what J endured and what he still struggles with, it's still awful, and the idea of S alone with this makes him want to start crying all over again.
no subject
He hesitates, something twitching in his cheek, at S's question. "Of course," he murmurs, heat rising along his neck. It's fucking stupid. He's had a long time to grow accustomed to the fact of what he did, far longer than he would have imagined possible, and sometimes he can talk about it without falling apart. Right now, though, the trade off for not breaking down is the awful sense of shame heating his skin. "I — of course I did." He didn't have any other way to frame the scars in his mind. All of them, as far as he knew, had to be at his hand. Though he knows he snapped that night, he didn't realize it was quite that bad — the stabbing part, at least — but he didn't know how else to see it, and his memories of that night are too blurred in places for him to feel entirely confident in any of it.
He lets out a short, sharp exhale and shakes his head. "Sihyun-ah... I want to hear it," he says, because he doesn't want to get sidetracked before he says the important part sticking in his head. "Even the things I won't like or that will upset me. And... and you were right. I wouldn't have been able to then. But I — I can. And you can, you can talk to me, I swear. I don't — ah, it's the worst feeling, to have it in your head and your heart and never be able to say it. I don't want that for you." Even if it's a different kind of awful from what J endured and what he still struggles with, it's still awful, and the idea of S alone with this makes him want to start crying all over again.